3  1822  01173  3292 


CIT 


OTIA* 


-THE- 

WOODCAKVER 
-OF^LYMPUS- 

BY 

-M.-E-WALLER- 


THE 

WOOD-CARVER   OF  'LYMPUS 


"  O  Lord,  by  these  things  men  live, 
and  in  all  these  things  is  the  life  of  my  spirit : 
so  thou  wilt  recover  me  and  make  me  to  live" 


The  stranger,  looking  back,  saw  the  child  still  standing  motionless 
beneath  the  butternut  tree." 


THE  WOOD-CARVER 
OF  'LYMPUS 


BY 

M.   E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "A  Daughter  of  the  Rich," 
"The  Little  Citizen,"  etc. 


With  a  Frontispiece  from  a  Drawing 
by  C.  C.  Emerson 


BOSTON 

UTTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1907 


C»pyright,  1904, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  April,  1904 


B.  J.  PARKHILL  *  Co.,  BOSTOS,  U.  S. 


TO 

E.    AND    T.  C. 

AND 

THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FATHER 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

L    THE  OLD  CHURCH  SETTLEMENT i 

II.    THE  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  MAN 15 

III.  WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  PEN 93 

IV.  WARP  AND  WOOF 153 

V.    THE  LOVE  OF  MAN 207 

VI.    THE  GIFT  OF  GOD 261 

VII.   THE  PASSING  OF  THE  HORNET.    .    •    •    .    .  297 


The 
Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

i 

THE   OLD   CHURCH   SETTLEMENT 

THE   yellow   glory   of  the   stage-coach   still 
illumines  some  of  the  valley  roads  in  rural 
New  England,  and   still  by  means  of  it,  if 
one  bestir  himself  betimes,  he    may  overtake    that 
Past  which  is  fleeing  from  us  with  accelerated  speed. 
This  is   specially  true  of  the  larger  river  valleys 
of  our  North  Country.     Here  the  four-horse   coach 
still  swings  cumbersomely  on  its  antiquated  leathers 
and,  rolling  and  pitching  like  a  lumberman's  lugger 
in  the  La  Chine  rapids,  lunges  along  the  post-roads 
of  Northern  and  Central  Vermont. 

At  regular  intervals  the  horses  stop  to  water  at 
some  roadside  trough  of  hollowed  log,  or  stone,  or 
iron  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  sap-kettle.  At  noon 
there  is  always  the  hour's  halt  at  some  wayside 
tavern — two  thirds  horse-sheds  and  one  third  dilap 
idated  dwelling,  of  which  the  greater  part  on  the 
ground  floor  is  given  over  to  the  barn-like  office,  the 
colorless  monotony  of  its  sanded  floor  relieved  here 
and  there  by  the  accidence  of  reds  and  browns  in 


4          The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

wooden  chairs  and  earthen  spittoons,  in  a  pot  or  two 
of  hardy  blossoming  geranium,  and  the  leaping  flame 
in  the  depths  of  a  cavernous  fireplace. 

Here  and  there  during  the  thirty  miles  of  posting 
the  stage  stops  at  a  farmhouse,  and  mystifying  pack 
ages  are  left  at  the  gate  or  door.  Here  and  there  in 
a  woods'-road  or  on  a  hilltop  the  driver  draws  rein 
and  winds  a  blast  on  his  tin  horn  that  wakens  a  seven 
fold  echo  among  the  green  heights,  and  summons  the 
dwellers  on  the  "  back  farms "  to  the  rough  box 
nailed  to  guide-post,  cross-roads'  tree,  or  fence  that 
still  serves  for  the  rural  post. 

On  an  afternoon  in  mid-September,  in  the  year  of 
our  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  ninety — ,  the  stage 
from  Alderbury  was  slowly  climbing  from  terrace  to 
terrace  of  the  overlapping  foot-hills  of  the  Green 
Mountains,  with  now  and  then  a  galloping  spurt  on 
the  short  levels.  The  Hornet,  yellow-bodied,  banded 
with  black,  was  empty  save  for  a  heterogeneous  col 
lection  of  bags,  boxes,  and  packages  piled  higgledy- 
piggledy  on  the  floor  and  seats.  Several  plethoric 
sacks  of  burlap  leaned  their  top-heavy  weight  against 
the  old-fashioned  back-strap  of  the  middle  seat,  and 
lurched  and  lunged  with  the  chop-sea  motion  of  the 
lumbering  vehicle,  but  always  righted  themselves  at 
the  critical  moment  of  unstable  equilibrium. 

It  was  so  late  in  the  season,  and  the  passengers  so 
rare,  that  the  outside  seats  —  that  vantage  ground  for 
travellers  —  had  been  removed  and  the  space  filled 
with  freight,  among  which  were  two  crates  of  Rhode 
Island  Red  pullets,  a  woven-wire  cot  of  peculiar  con 
struction,  and  a  newly  weaned  pig  in  a  grocery  box. 


The  Old  Church  Settlement  5 

There  was  but  one  passenger,  who  sat  on  the  seat  by 
the  driver. 

They  had  been  several  hours  on  the  road,  following 
the  White  Branch  of  the  Connecticut  upwards  to  its 
source  in  the  still  uninvaded  forest  belt.  The  hill- 
slopes  behind  the  valley  farms,  through  which  they 
passed,  were  gay  with  hundreds  of  hop-pickers  in  their 
red  and  white  head-kerchiefs,  their  plaid  shoulder- 
shawls  or  blue-jean  blouses.  To  the  traveller,  looking 
upward  to  the  slopes  from  the  road,  the  poles  with 
their  largess  of  rioting  vine  and  delicate  green  blos 
soms  seemed  to  lean  from  out  the  clear,  sun-filled  sky 
of  deep  blue.  Shout,  and  laughter,  and  waving  of 
kerchiefs  and  sunbonnets  greeted  the  passing  of  the 
Hornet. 

Farther  on,  the  entire  population  of  the  small  fac 
tory  village  of  Scawsville  swarmed  at  the  noon  hour 
before  the  one  store  in  the  place  —  "  department  " 
on  a  small  scale,  and  post-office  and  barber's  shop  to 
boot  —  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  Alderbury  stage. 

Five  miles  beyond,  on  the  slope  that  rises  behind 
the  Bend,  —  that  sharp  turn  of  the  mighty  White 
Branch  at  right  angles  to  the  north,  where  it  rushes 
downwards  through  the  straight  five  miles  of  moun 
tain  gorge, — lay  the  deserted  hamlet  of  the  Old 
Church  Settlement:  a  half  dozen  of  dilapidated 
houses  clustered  about  the  abandoned  House  of  God 
and  its  well-filled  graveyard.  The  white  walls  and 
white  headstones  dominated  the  valley  below,  east 
and  west,  for  miles. 

At  sight  of  it  the  driver,  whose  loquacity  was 
spasmodic,  grew  reminiscent.  He  shifted  the  quid 


6  The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

of  tobacco  from  his  right  cheek  to  his  left  and,  turn 
ing  to  the  passenger,  pointed  with  his  whipstock 
upwards  to  the  church. 

"  Ther  ain't  ben  er  weddin'  thar  sence  I  was  knee 
high  t'  er  grasshopper,  'n'  the  las'  bur'al  but  one  wuz 
er  double  one."  He  slowly  gathered  up  the  slack  of 
the  reins  to  give  the  man  a  chance  to  put  a  question. 
He  had  not  miscalculated. 

"When  was  that?"  said  the  stranger,  but  in 
differently. 

"  Twenty-two  year  ago  come  Chris'mus  —  two  on 
'em  ter  onct !  Beat  all  how  Si  Prindle's  fam'ly  petered 
out !  Jest  ez  nice  er  set  er  boys  'n'  gals  ez  er  man 
could  raise,  'n'  all  on  'em,  'cept  one,  layin'  five  foot 
under  ground.  Ain't  but  two  young  uns  left,  'n' 
they  're  kinder  collat'rals ;  one 's  er  grandson,  'n' 
t'  other  's  his  youngest  gal's  niece-in-law,  or,  I  guess, 
out-er-the-law." 

Again  he  jerked  his  whipstock,  but  backwards  to 
the  slope  below  them,  for  the  horses  were  pulling  up 
a  steep  rise  to  an  upper  mountain  terrace. 

"  Jule  was  Si's  oldest  gal,  smarter 'n  er  steel  trap, 
'n'  harnsome  too.  She  married  er  feller  over  'n  York 
state  —  city  chap  I  heerd,  'n'  lived  in  Troy;  wuz 
studyin'  ter  be  er  minister,  'n'  went  inter  er  decline 
arter  they  'd  ben  married  nigh  onter  two  year.  Jule 
hed  ter  do  the  supportin'  —  likely  'nough  she  wuz 
willin' ;  fer  I  heerd  'em  tell  down  ter  Scawsville,  thet 
she  said  she  warn't  goin*  ter  marry  nobody  but  er 
perfessional  ef  she  hed  ter  work  fer  her  livin'  ter  do 
it."  He  paused  for  another  question,  but  it  was  not 
forthcoming. 


The  Old  Church  Settlement  7 

"  Guess  likely  she  done  it  fast  'nough;  'coz  'twarn't 
more  'n  two  months  arter  he  died  thet  they  brought 
'em  both  up  here  ter  bury,  him  'n'  her.  He  'd  ben 
in  er  tomb  t'll  then.  We  hain't  got  no  receivin'  tomb 
up  here,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought.  Then  sud 
denly  seizing  the  post-horn  from  its  leathern  socket, 
he  sent  forth  so  powerful  a  note  that  the  green 
heights  rang  with  prolonged  echoes,  and  the  leader 
on  the  off  side  showed  his  heels  above  the  traces  and 
pulled  bravely  up  on  the  bits. 

"  This  is  the  fourth  time  since  we  left  Scawsville 
that  this  instrument  of  yours  has  rivalled  the  Last 
Trump  in  sound,  and  yet  I  have  n't  seen  a  living  soul 
nor  a  living  thing  but  that  old  crow  on  the  fence  that 
those  swallows  are  tormenting.  Where  is  every 
body?"  said  the  stranger. 

The  man  chuckled.  "  Thet 's  my  special  fer  Some 
body —  ye  '11  see  in  er  minute."  He  handed  the  reins 
to  the  stranger.  —  "  Jest  hold  onter  them  ribbons, 
will  yer?  It'll  take  me  quite  er  spell  ter  git  the 
truck  off;  't  ain't  more'n  twice  er  year  ther's  any 
thing  ter  be  hauled  up  the  Pent  Road ;  but  she 's 
allus  on  han'  —  Look  er  thar!  What 'd  I  tell  ye?" 

The  stage  had  drawn  up  beneath  a  butternut  tree 
that  stood  in  the  angle  formed  by  the  highway  and 
the  Pent  Road  that  trailed  its  grass-grown,  rocky 
length  over  the  undulating  pasture  slopes,  through 
acres  of  sweet  fern  and  ground-hemlock,  around 
dense  growths  of  spruce-bush,  but  up,  ever  up,  to 
the  dark  forest  belt  on  the  mountain  top,  where  it 
was  lost  to  sight  in  a  narrow  clearing.  Between  the 
turnpike  and  these  woodlands  the  Pent  Road,  where 


8  The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

it  intersected  fences  or  stone  walls,  was  crossed  by 
four  sets  of  bars. 

As  the  passenger's  eyes  followed  the  direction 
indicated  by  the  driver's  whipstock,  he  was  aware 
of  a  little  figure  that  lightly  leaped  the  bars  nearest 
the  road,  and  came  racing  down  the  long,  steep 
slope  to  the  butternut  tree  with  the  unshod  security 
of  a  fawn. 

"  Jest  in  time,  Twiddie,"  said  the  driver,  as  the 
child,  stemming  herself  against  her  own  impetus 
and  extending  both  hands  to  break  the  force  of  the 
impact,  brought  up  rather  suddenly  against  the  tree. 
"  Here  's  the  truck  ye  Ve  been  lookin*  fer  more  'n  er 
month  —  who's  comin'  down  fer  it?" 

"  Uncle  Shim  ;  —  be  them  all  ourn?  " 

She  passed  her  lean,  freckled  hands  rapidly  along 
the  invalid's  adjustable  cot  the  driver  of  the  Hornet 
had  just  placed  against  the  tree,  and  of  which  the 
stranger  took  note  for  the  first  time ;  she  tugged 
impotently  at  the  piece  of  sheep-twine  that  tied  the 
mouth  of  one  of  the  bulging  bags  deposited  near  it; 
then  suddenly  hoppety-skipping  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  trunk  she  sprang  with  outstretched  arms  at  the 
sturdy  bole,  and,  clasping  it  close,  with  the  agility 
of  a  monkey  shinned  up  to  a  limb  that,  at  the  reach 
of  a  man's  arm,  projected  at  a  right  angle  to  it. 

Thereon  she  balanced  herself,  swinging  her  bare, 
brown  sticks  of  legs,  and  laughing  gleefully  in  a 
clear,  high  voice  at  finding  herself  so  nearly  on  a 
level  with  the  astonished  passenger  on  the  box.  He 
responded  to  her  mirth  with  an  encouraging  smile 
and  by  lifting  his  hat. 


The  Old  Church  Settlement  9 

"  'N'  thet  ain't  all,"  said   the  stage-driver,  as   he 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  yellow-bodied  Hornet,  — 
"ye  fergot  ter  look  inter  yer  post-office  — " 

Hardly  had  he  spoken  the  words  before  the  child 
hung  by  her  hands  from  the  limb  and  dropped  to 
the  ground.  The  swift  grace  of  the  movement  would 
have  claimed  the  stranger's  admiration,  even  if  his 
attention  had  not  been  arrested  by  the  sudden  trans 
figuration  of  the  peaked,  yet  healthily  tinted  face 
that,  seen  from  above,  looked  like  a  vast  freckle 
beneath  a  thatch  of  dark  red  hair,  faded  and  sun 
burned. 

Thrusting  her  arm  into  the  opening  of  a  narrow 
squirrel-hole  in  the  trunk  just  above  her  head,  she 
drew  forth  one  yellow  envelope. 

" 'T ain't  fer  us?"  she  exclaimed  in  an  awed, 
questioning  voice,  half-breathless  in  her  sudden 
excitement. 

"Don't  ye  b'lieve  it,  Twiddie ;  ef  't  ain't  fer  your 
folks  't  ain't  fer  nobody  on  'Lympus."  He  took  the 
reins  from  the  stranger,  and  swung  the  whiplash  at 
arm's  length  with  such  professional  skill  that  the  one 
sharp  crack  sounded  like  the  report  of  a  pistol  and, 
at  the  same  moment,  the  leader  on  the  off  side  felt 
the  stinging  clip  of  the  cracker  on  the  tip  of  his 
right  ear.  The  horses  strained  to  the  steep  hill 
before  them,  and  the  stranger,  looking  back,  saw  the 
child  still  standing  motionless  beneath  the  butternut 
tree,  gazing,  as  if  fascinated,  at  the  envelope  in  her 
hand. 

"Where  does  she  live?"  he  queried,  as  the  horses 
rested  on  the  first  water-bar,  whence,  looking  back 


io        The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

again,  he  could  see  that  she  had  not  stirred  from 
the  spot. 

"  Couple  er  miles  back  on  the  Mountin'." 

"  What  did  you  call  the  place?  " 

"  'Lympus  —  O-lympus,  I  s'pose  city  folks  'd  say. 
Thet  's  what  'tis  on  the  county  map,  but  thet's  only 
the  Mountin' ;  they  're  good  five  mile  from  'Lympus- 
Gilead,  thet  's  the  nearest  settlement,  'cept  the  one 
jest  erhead.  See?  't ain't  much  of  er  settlement  — 
no  stores,  no  mill,  no  nothin'  but  er  pass'l  er  log- 
skinners  'n'  Canucks,  'n'  er  dozen  er  more  houses." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"Twiddie?  —  She's  one  er  them  collat'rals  I  told 
ye  'bout.  Si 's  youngest  gal  married  er  poor  shote 
of  er  feller,  Shim  Lewis.  They  hain't  no  children, 
but  Shim's  sister  died  four  years  arter  thet  little  gal 
wuz  born  —  out  er  wedlock,  too,  — 'n'  Shim  took  her 
hum.  Folks  say  he  sets  er  sight  by  her,  'n'  so  does 
Lize." 

"  Is  any  one  of  the  family  an  invalid?  I  noticed 
that  cot  was  an  adjustable  one,  such  as  they  use  in 
hospitals  — 

"  Ye  did,  did  ye?  Wai,  ye  know  er  thing  er  two. 
Ye 're  right  —  thet's  fer  Hugh,  t'other  collat'ral  I 
told  ye  'bout.  Thet 's  Jule's  son.  Si  took  him  when 
he  warn't  but  er  year  old,  'n'  willed  him  ter  Lize. 
I  see  the  will  —  read  kinder  queer,  but  Si  was  sound 
'nough  when  he  drawed  it  up.  Ye  see,  he  willed  the 
old  place,  thet  was  his  father's,  'n'  the  furniture  — 
what  ther'  wuz  on  't  —  ter  Hugh,  thet  wuz  his  oldest 
gal's;  'n'  then  he  willed  Hugh  ter  Lize;  'n'  ter  Shim 
he  willed  Lize  'n'  all  the  live-stock. 


The  Old  Church  Settlement          1 1 

"  Ye  see,  Shim  was  his  hired  man  —  sort  of  er 
scape-goat  fer  all  the  old  man's  crotchety  doin's  — 
V  he'd  ben  courtin'  Lize  fer  nigh  onter  fifteen  year. 
Si  wuz  so  dead  set  agin  it,  'count  er  Shim's  shif 'less- 
ness,  that  Shim  dassen't  pop,  'n'  Lize  dassen't  en 
courage  him  er  mite ;  'n'  so  't  went  on  t'll  jest  'fore 
the  old  man  died,  then  I  guess  he  kinder  wanted  ter 
make  his  peace  all  roun',  so  he  gin  'em  his  blessin', 
'n'  told  'em  not  ter  lay  it  up  agin  him,  'coz  he  'd 
fixed  it  all  right  in  the  will. 

"  Lize  wuz  some  disapp'inted  'coz  the  place  warn't 
hers ;  but,  she  thinks  'bout  ez  much  er  Hugh  ez  ef 
he  wuz  her  own,  so  I  guess  she  don't  lay  awake 
nights  over  it —  'n'  it'll  be  hers,  anyway,  'fore  long." 

"  How's  that?  " 

"  Hugh  hed  bad  luck.  He  come  hum  er  year  ago 
las'  spring  ter  help  Shim  with  the  cuttin',  'n'  jest  over 
thar,  by  thet  clearin'  the  Pent  Road  leads  up  ter,  in 
thet  very  spot,  er  shoe  give  way  on  the  traverse  'n' 
er  log  pitched  right  off  onter  Hugh  —  he  hain't  so 
much  ez  moved  er  leg  sence,  never  will ;  dyin"  by 
inches,  so  folks  say,  jest  like  er  blasted  tree  —  only 
t'  other  end  to. 

"  Gosh  !  —  I  feel  bad  fer  the  feller ;  he  wuz  er  smart 
un,  jest  like  his  mother.  He  'd  worked  out  his  free 
dom  with  Shim  'n'  Lize,  'n'  laid  by  er  leetle  suthin' 
ter  start  in  ter  the  'Cademy  down  ter  Alderbury,  — 
wuz  tryin'  ter  be  er  preacher  like  his  father,  —  'n'  hed 
ben  thar  er  full  year  'n'  some  on  ter  the  next.  He 
wuz  ter  hum  arter  the  winter  term  helpin'  Shim  cut 
'n'  haul  logs,  'n',  all  of  er  suddin,  he  wuz  felled  jest 
like  er  straight,  thirty-year  maple,  full  er  sap,  'n' 


12         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

hez  laid  thar  ter  hum  goin'  on  two  year  wuss  'n 
useless.  I  feel  bad  fer  Shim,  'n'  Lize  too.  Ther 
wuz  er  morgige  on  the  place  when  Si  left  it  big 
'nough  ter  mildew  every  crop  they  Ve  raised.  Hugh  'n' 
Lize  hed  worked  off  some  on 't,  but  sence  Hugh 
wuz  laid  up,  they  Ve  hed  er  tough  time  on 't,  no 
mistake  —  " 

The  flow  of  his  discursive  reminiscence  had,  thus 
far,  suffered  no  check  from  the  stranger's  unrespon- 
siveness,  but  a  sudden  flank  movement  of  the  leader 
on  the  off  side  served  to  deflect  the  current  of  his 
speech  into  other  channels  and  more  forcible  ex 
pression.  While  he  was  busy  with  the  horses  —  put 
ting  on  the  check-rein,  testing  the  traces,  adjusting 
the  drag  —  the  passenger  rose,  stretched  his  legs,  and 
looked  about  him. 

They  had  halted  on  the  height  of  land  that  forms 
the  watershed  between  the  White  Branch  and  the 
eastern  tributaries  of  the  Otter  Creek.  The  warm, 
golden  peace  of  a  mid-September  afternoon  lay  upon 
the  softly  swelling  sea  of  rounded,  overlapping  hills 
and  mountains  wooded  to  their  summits.  Here  and 
there  mere  shining  ribbons  of  water  glinted  in  the 
valleys  far  below.  The  forest  belts,  from  which  they 
had  just  emerged,  lay  on  the  mountain's  flank  like 
the  tarnished  bosses  of  a  huge  shield,  the  yellow  of 
birch,  the  brown  of  beech,  subdued  and  enhanced 
by  the  massed  shadows  of  hemlock,  spruce,  and  fir. 
Here  and  there  a  weather-blackened  farmhouse  with 
adjoining  barns  and  sheds  found  shelter  from  the 
north  at  the  edge  of  the  heavy  timber  line,  and  viewed 
from  that  height  closely  resembled,  both  in  appearance 


The  Old  Church  Settlement          i  3 

and  size,  the  swallows'  mud-nests  beneath  overhang 
ing  eaves. 

The  stranger  breathed  long  and  deep.  The  sun- 
filled  air  at  that  height,  two  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea,  was  life-giving.  As  he  took  his  seat  again  by  the 
driver,  who  had  made  all  fast  for  the  rapid  descent  be 
fore  them,  he  said,  pointing  to  a  scattering  dozen  of 
houses  just  below  on  the  next  level : 

"  I  take  it  that  is  Farnsfield.  Is  there  an  inn 
there?" 

"  Sech  ez  't  iz  ;  —  wuz  ye  cal'latin'  ter  put  up  thar  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I'd  stay  over  a  day  here  —  I  like  this 
region  —  and  return  with  you  on  your  next  trip  to 
Alderbury,  that 's  —  ?  " 

"  Thet  's  ter-morrer,"  interrupted  the  other  ;   "  I  '11 
be  'long  'bout  noon.     Guess  ye  can't  stan'   it  longer 
'n    thet; — fodder's    dirt   cheap,  but    't  ain't   A  I- 
Whoa-ah  !  " 

With  a  deft  turn  of  his  wrist  and  a  crack  of  his 
whip,  he  drew  rein  before  the  open  door  of  an  old, 
red,  two-story-and-a-half  inn  which,  as  it  stretched  its 
ramshackle  length  along  the  dusty  highway,  presented 
a  full  front  view  of  its  fallen  estate  in  the  gradual  de 
terioration  of  its  architectural  members  —  ell,  wood 
shed,  horse-sheds,  barn,  pig-sty,  cow-house,  hennery, 
cart-shed,  and  outhouse. 

As  the  stranger  swung  himself  down  from  the  top 
of  the  stage,  a  hen,  roosting  on  the  threshold  of  the 
main  entrance,  flew,  squawking,  into  the  passage. 
The  driver  chuckled. 

"  Thet 's  more  'n  most  folks  git  fer  er  welcome  in 
tliis  God-fersaken  hole  ;  —  guess  ye  '11  git  all  ye  want 


14         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

er  the  region  'fore  twelve  ter-morrer  noon.  Lay  ye 
ten  ter  one,  I  '11  meet  ye  on  the  road  'slid  er  here  !  " 
He  shook  his  head  dubiously,  whereat  the  stranger 
smiled. 

"  You  're  safe,  for  you  '11  pick  me  up  at  the  butter 
nut  tree  by  the  Pent  Road  over  the  Mountain.  I  Ve 
stayed  over  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Twiddle." 

"  Wai  —  I  vum  !  "  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle,  the  driver  of 
the  Alderbury  stage  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  slowly 
removed  his  straw  hat,  and  drawing  forth  from  its 
crown  a  new  bandanna,  wiped  and  polished  the  bald, 
pink  dome  of  his  skull  till  it  shone  like  a  billiard  ball ; 
then  he  carefully  folded  and  replaced  it,  put  on  his  hat, 
and,  gathering  up  the  slack  of  the  reins,  gave  vent  to  a 
series  of  sputtering  wheezes  which  were  accompanied 
by  varied  and  curious  contortions  of  his  rotund  body. 
They  might  have  continued  indefinitely,  had  not  the 
leader  on  the  offside  chosen  that  inopportune  moment 
to  make  known  his  equine  displeasure  at  the  preten 
sions  of  a  mammoth  turkey  that,  appearing  around  the 
corner  of  the  house,  suddenly  claimed  the  whole  road, 
and  displayed  the  full  circle  of  his  tail  and  the  entire 
register  of  his  powerful  gobble. 

Amid  imprecations  full  and  free,  the  frenetic  crack 
ings  of  the  whip,  the  all-pervasive  gobble  of  the  terri 
fied  turkey,  and  the  gymnastics  of  the  leader  on  the  off 
side,  the  yellow-bodied  Hornet  disappeared  in  a  whirl 
of  dust  down  the  road,  leaving  the  stranger  laughing 
heartily  on  the  doorstep. 


II 

THE   MOUNTAIN   AND   THE   MAN 


II 

THE   MOUNTAIN  AND   THE   MAN 

September  loth,  189-. 

TWENTY-THREE  to-day,  and   I  have  lain 
here  just  one  year  and  seven  months  —  as 
useless  as  the  log  that  fell  upon  me.    Where 
is  that  log?     I  Ve  wondered  time  and  again  where  the 
thing  lay,   how  it  lay,  how  it  looks   after   the  year 
and  seven  months.     I  've  wanted  to  ask  Uncle  Shim 
about  it,  but  have  been  too  cowardly. 

I  'd  like  to  have  it  snaked  down  here  before  it 
turns  to  punk  and  get  at  it,  just  once,  to  hew  and 
hack  it  into  dead  half-inch  pieces  —  the  damned, 
senseless,  half-cord  hulk  that  has  taken  the  life  of 
me  as  a  man,  and  cheated  me  of  my  birthright. 

Birthright?  Birthday!  What  do  I  know  about  it? 
I  'm  thinking  a  man  has  to  take  a  good  deal  on  trust 
in  that  direction.  How  do  I  know?  I  don't;  and 
this  impotent  ignorance  gives  the  lie  to  Life  in  the 
beginning  of  things  ;  —  beginning?  God  !  I  'd  rather 
the  log  had  struck  higher  up  and  left  me  mad  as  a 
March  hare  with  legs  to  run,  and  jump,  and  leap, 
and  get  away  from  it  all,  than  to  chain  me  here  to  a 
bed,  just  as  I  've  read  they  chain  the  convicts  in  the 
galleys,  with  all  my  thinking  apparatus  intact. 


1 8         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

The  brain  reels  at  times,  and  a  terrible  rage  pos 
sesses  me:  a  mood  of  destruction  if  I  could  get  at 
some  living  thing,  or  even  if - 

I  try  not  to  show  this.  I  know  I  must  not;  I  Ve 
still  will  enough  left  for  that;  for  day  before  yester 
day  Twiddie  happened  in  with  a  big  bunch  of  hooded 
gentians  for  me.  She  came  skipping  in  joyfully 
enough,  but  stopped  short  before  she  reached  the 
bed,  dropped  the  flowers,  and  ran  from  the  room. 
I  heard  her  sobbing  out  in  the  woodshed  after  that. 
My  hearing  has  grown  strangely  acute. 

I  used  the  shepherd's  crook,  that  Uncle  Shim  made 
for  me  when  I  was  a  six-year-old  and  ran  wild  in  the 
Old  Pasture  with  the  sheep  and  the  lambs,  to  hook  up 
the  bunch  of  gentians  from  the  floor;  she  had  tied 
them  with  a  bit  of  striped  grass.  I  have  put  them  on 
the  bed,  and  I  hope  the  child  will  see  them  from  the 
kitchen,  as  she  passes  the  door. 

I  hate  to  see  that  terrified  look  in  her  eyes  at  sight 
of  me!  I've  seen  it  there  before  —  but  only  when 
that  horrible  mood  of  destruction  is  upon  me. 

This  morning  I  caught  Twiddie  looking  in  at  the 
crack  of  the  bedroom  door — I  hope  she  saw  the 
gentians  in  the  pitcher  on  the  table  —  and  I  called 
to  her  to  fetch  me  a  needle  —  a  coarse  one.  Instead 
of  answering  me,  she  ran  out  to  the  barn,  and  I  heard 
her  call  Aunt  Lize,  but  under  her  breath.  Then  I 
heard  Aunt  Lize  hurry  in  through  the  shed ;  in  a 
moment  more  she  stood  by  my  bed  with  such  a 
strained,  anxious  look  on  her  face  that  I  could  but 
wonder. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man  19 

"What  d'ye  want,  Hughie?"  she  said;  and  I 
noticed  her  voice  trembled. 

"  Nothing  but  a  needle,  Aunt  Lize ;  I  asked  Twid- 
die  to  get  me  one  —  no  harm  in  that,  is  there?"  I 
know  I  spoke  sharply,  but  I  hate  this  eternal  question 
ing  as  to  why  I  want  this  or  that,  and  I  hate  to  have 
her  call  me  "  Hughie  "  —  I  'm  enough  of  a  baby  in  my 
helplessness  without  that  reminder. 

"  What  d'  ye  want  on  't  ?  Men  don't  take  ter  needles 
—  not  nat'rally ;  let  me  do  it  fer  ye,  Hughie." 

Then  I  blazed  away ;  I  could  n't  help  it.  It  mad 
dens  me  so  to  be  thwarted  in  such  little  things  when 
I  can't  stir  a  foot  to  get  it  for  myself — tied  to  a 
woman's  apron-string  and  a  child's  little  finger  — 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  why  you  won't  give  me  what  I 
ask  for?  it's  little  enough.  You  wouldn't  give  me 
my  jackknife  yesterday,  and  last  week  you  stood  out 
about  the  shears  —  what  on  earth  ails  you?  Can't 
you  see  it 's  taking  the  meanest  kind  of  an  advantage 
of  a  man  —  a  man  !  O  my  God  !  — 

I  stopped  short,  for  I  felt  the  rage  coming  upon 
me,  and  the  window  space  looked  black  against 
the  light  outside.  I  put  out  my  hands  to  shove  her 
away. 

"Go  away,  Aunt  Lize — go,  go!"  I  cried.  But 
she  stemmed  herself  against  my  little  strength,  and, 
flinging  her  apron  over  her  head,  broke  into  dreadful 
sobs,  crying  out: 

"  Oh,  Hughie,  Hughie  !  don't  ye  know  why  ?  I'm 
'feared  —  I  'm  'feared  —  " 

At  the  sound  and  the  words  my  sight  cleared ;  I 
have  never  known  Aunt  Lize  to  give  way  so,  —  and 


2O        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

to  see  a  woman  cry  like  that !  I  myself  have  never 
shed  a  tear ;  the  hot  rage  has  scorched  my  eyeballs 
till  whatever  moisture  there  was  dried  before  it  fell; 
I  have  seen  red  and  black  during  all  these  nineteen 
months,  —  and  I  drew  her  hands  down  from  her  face, 
and  with  them  the  apron.  I  lifted  her  bowed  head 
on  my  palm  —  I  had  strength  enough  for  that  —  and 
said : 

"  Aunt  Lize,  look  at  me."  And  therewith  she 
raised  her  reddened  lids  and  looked  at  me  through 
the  streaming  tears  —  such  a  look  !  Then  I  knew  the 
thing  she  had  feared  —  knew  why  they  had  kept  every 
harmful  utensil  from  me,  or  watched  me  when  I  was 
using  one.  I  knew  why  they  had  let  my  beard  grow, 
and  I  had  never  seen  a  razor  —  knew  why  I  was 
watched  and  spied  upon  even  by  the  child,  Twiddie. 
The  thought  I  had  dwelt  with  so  long  had  left  its  im 
print  on  my  face,  and  they  could  but  see  and  read  ! 

It  was  a  shock.  I  thought  I  had  hidden  it.  It 
belonged  to  myself,  what  there  is  left  of  me ;  but 
I  never  meant  they  should  see,  never  meant  to  terrify 
them  so  —  a  woman  and  a  little  child. 

But  the  shock  did  something  to  me.  It  seemed  as 
if  some  tendon  gave  a  little  somewhere  about  my  heart, 
and  I  could  take  a  longer  breath  than  I  had  done  in 
all  these  past  months;  and,  suddenly,  I  spoke  as  I 
felt,  and  my  voice  sounded  more  like  the  voice  of  the 
man  I  used  to  be.  I  spoke  slowly,  looking  straight 
into  her  eyes : 

"  You  need  n't  fear,  Aunt  Lize ;  there  '11  be  nothing 
to  make  you  afraid  after  this." 

And  hearing  my  voice,  such,  I  suppose,  as  it  once 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          21 

was,  she  quivered  like  a  popple  in  a  south  wind ;  her 
knees  gave  beneath  her,  and  she  fell  upon  them  by 
the  side  of  my  bed,  and  spoke  brokenly,  to  herself,  or 
to  me,  or  to  — 

At  any  rate,  I  laid  my  hand  on  her  head,  and  felt 
better — more  eased  —  than  for  a  whole  year  and 
seven  months  past.  Then  Uncle  Shim  called  from 
the  shed : 

"  Lize,  where  be  ye?  " 

I  have  never  known  him  to  be  absent  about  his 
work  for  an  hour  even,  but  that,  on  entering  the 
house  again,  those  were  his  first  words.  Hearing 
them,  Aunt  Lize  rose  quickly,  found  the  door  half- 
blindly  through  her  tears,  and,  going  out,  shut  it 
to  —  softly. 

September  i6th. 

This  morning,  after  a  sleep  such  as  I  have  not  had 
for  months,  I  found  a  good,  sharp  darning-needle  run 
through  a  slip  of  paper  and  again  through  the  hem 
of  the  sheet.  I  seized  it  so  quickly  that  it  pricked 
me  —  a  right  smart  jab ;  the  sensation  it  gave  me  is  a 
thing  to  remember.  The  needle  and  the  prick  have 
both  done  me  good.  She  trusted  me. 

Afternoon. 

About  three  o'clock,  when  Aunt  Lize  was  out  with 
Uncle  Shim  cutting  fodder,  and  Twiddie  had  gone 
down  the  Pent  Road  to  see  the  stage  pass,  I  experi 
mented  with  the  needle. 

I  tried  both  legs  —  thighs  and  calves ;  ran  it  a  half 
inch  into  each  —  and  felt  nothing.  But  the  blood 


22         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

spurted  —  good  red  blood,  too.     Somehow  the  sight 
of  it  has  given  me  courage,  for  what,  I  can't  say. 

September  i7th. 

I  wish  I  could  see  farther  from  my  one  window. 
I  think  every  sense  must  have  been  benumbed  during 
these  nineteen  months,  for  I  don't  remember  to  have 
been  conscious  of  seeing  anything  from  the  window 
until  yesterday  afternoon. 

But  there  could  n't  be  a  worse  prospect  for  me.  I 
can  look  for  five  hundred  feet  straight  up  the  slope  of 
the  Mountain,  across  the  stony  corn-fodder  patch 
where  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  are  at  work,  into 
the  black  gloom  of  the  heavy  timber,  and  the  narrow 
clearing,  where  — 

No,  by  God  !  I  '11  fight  it  down  like  a  man  so  long 
as  there  is  a  drop  of  red  blood  left  in  me  ;  to  frighten 
a  woman  and  little  child  so !  And  to  lie  all  through 
that  summer  and  fall  and  winter  and  spring,  and 
now  a  second  summer,  like  a  dead  nightmare  weight 
upon  those  I  'm  dependent  on  for  everything  except 
breath  — 

There's  Twiddie  in  the  clearing,  running  for  dear 
life  !  She  has  something  in  her  hand  —  is  waving  it 
to  attract  Aunt  Lize's  attention,  and  hoo-hooing  like  a 
looney.  It's  a  letter!  And  now  all  three,  loaded  down 
with  shocks  of  green  fodder,  are  hurrying  to  the  barn. 

I  can  hear  Prince  backing  out  of  the  stall,  and  the 
collie  has  gone  daft. —  Has  it  anything  to  do  with  the 
letter,  I  wonder?  Twiddie  has  shunned  me  since 
that  day  she  brought  me  the  gentians;  I  wish  she 
would  n't,  but  I  can't  blame  her. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man  23 

I  hear  the  wheels  of  the  light  farm-wagon  strike  the 
two  big  rocks  in  the  Pent  Road  just  above  the  house; 
I  know  it  is  that,  because  the  last  time  I  used  it,  the 
king-bolt  chinked  just  as  I  heard  it  a  minute  ago,  and 
Uncle  Shim  said  he  'd  put  on  some  axle-grease.  — 
How  long  ago  was  that?  Just  two  years;  I  don't 
suppose  he  has  thought  of  it  since.  That 's  just  like 
Uncle  Shim. 

September  i8th,  5  A.M. 

I  am  glad  it  is  light  enough  to  see  to  write,  or 
rather  to  talk  with  myself.  I  have  n't  slept  well,  and 
the  nights  are  growing  longer. 

I  could  n't  sleep  for  thinking  of  the  change  that  is 
coming  into  my  life  to-day.  Yesterday,  after  dark, 
Uncle  Shim  came  home  with  the  light  farm-wagon, 
bringing  a  cot-bed :  an  adjustable  one,  made  for  such 
as  I ;  and,  in  time,  I  may  be  strong  enough  to  raise 
myself  to  a  sitting  position  —  and  lower  myself,  when 
tired  —  by  means  of  the  ingeniously  rigged  pulleys 
and  ratchets. 

The  small  possibilities  of,  at  least,  the  fag  end  of  a 
life  like  mine  filled  all  my  thoughts;  — well,  perhaps 
that 's  better  than  - 

I  'm  bound  to  live,  as  a  matter  of  gratitude  to  Aunt 
Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  for  this.  They  Ve  scrimped 
along  on  next  to  nothing  to  procure  it  for  me  —  have 
been  planning  and  saving  and  scraping  a  year  for  this 
one  thing.  It  was  intended  for  my  birthday.  What 
have  n't  they  gone  without  to  pay  for  it ! 

I  tried  to  thank  them  —  but  it  was  too  much  for 
me ;  the  tears  came  —  at  last  —  with  no  hot  rage,  no 


24         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

scorching  eyeballs  to  dry  them  before  they  fell.     I 
cried  like  a  child,  and  Aunt  Lize  comforted  me  like  a 
child.     I  fell  asleep,  exhausted,  and,  as  it  was  early  — 
just  after  supper — I  was  awake  again  at  eleven,  and 
have  had  but  one  hour's  sleep  since. 

What  a  day  that  was !  Uncle  Shim  came  in  after 
breakfast  and  got  me  on  to  the  new  cot;  that  is,  one 
end  of  me.  Aunt  Lize  managed  the  other,  for  my 
six  foot  one  of  hulk  has  to  be  moved  on  the  instal 
ment  plan. 

Then  they  adjusted  the  pulleys  and  raised  me  to  a 
half-sitting  position.  Oh,  the  relief  of  body  and  mind  ! 
A  man's  position  on  this  earth,  I  take  it,  is  intended 
to  be  upright;  only  horizontal  in  the  final  sleep,  and, 
transiently,  when  imitating  it  once  in  twenty-four 
hours. 

Later  on  I  asked  for  a  looking-glass.  Aunt  Lize 
brought  me  a  cracked  three-cornered  piece  I  remem 
ber  she  kept  on  the  shelf  over  the  kitchen  dry-sink. 
I  should  not  have  known  myself. 

I  remember  that,  during  that  last  week  at  the 
Academy,  I  shaved  off  my  mustache  because  I  over 
heard  one  of  the  Scawsville  girls,  Linnie  Lane,  laugh 
ing  at  it.  I  was  the  oldest  in  the  class,  and  the  girls 
made  me  feel  it.  What  a  pretty  minx  she  was  !  She 
wrote  me  a  note  congratulating  me  and  begging  for 
one  hair !  I  vowed  then  I  'd  make  her  smart  for  it. 
I  came  home  with  the  smooth  face  of  a  boy,  but  that 
which  looked  back  at  me  from  the  three-cornered 
piece  of  fly-specked  glass  was  a  man's  face,  full- 
bearded,  sunken-eyed,  the  cheeks  furrowed,  and  a 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          25 

stripe  of  white  hair,  silver  white,  running  from  the 
left  temple  to  an  inch  behind  the  ear. 

I  called  to  Uncle  Shim  in  the  kitchen  : 

"Let's  make  a  clearing,  Uncle  Shim;  hone  your 
razor  and  strap  it  well,  and,  Aunt  Lize,  give  me  your 
sharpest  shears  till  I  do  some  tall  cutting  into  this 
underbrush." 

And  when  I  was  lathered,  and  razed,  and  shaved, 
and  clipped,  and  washed,  and  dressed  in  a  clean  blue 
flannel  shirt,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  had,  at  last,  an  inch  or 
two  more  of  backbone  in  me,  I  heard  the  sheep-dog 
—  not  old  Tag,  Uncle  Shim  tells  me,  but  her  pup  — 
bark  in  the  woods,  and  in  a  minute  Twiddie  rushed 
in,  half  breathless,  as  she  always  is  when  excited. 

"  Come  quick,  Aunt  Lize  !  Ther  's  er  strange  man 
comin'  out  er  the  clearin'  down  the  Pent  Road ! 
He's  the  one  I  told  ye  'bout  —  wuz  on  the  stage,  V 
smiled  'n'  bowed  ter  me  when  I  was  sittin'  in  the 
butt'nut  yesterday,  'n'  when  the  stage  drove  off,  he 
took  off  his  hat  jes'  ez  he  did  jes'  now  when  he  see 
me  feedin'  the  hens  out  back.  Come,  come !  "  She 
tugged  at  Aunt  Lize's  dress,  and  Aunt  Lize  was  so 
flustered  —  for  a  stranger  finds  his  way  about  once 
in  two  years  to  our  place  over  the  Mountain  —  that 
she  smoothed  out  her  apron,  forgetful  of  the  recent 
barbering,  and  all  the  length  and  fulness  of  my  brown 
beard  and  extra  long  locks  of  hair  fell  to  the  floor ; 
then  hurried  out,  shears  in  hand,  to  the  kitchen  door, 
exclaiming: 

"  Land  sakes'  alive  !  Who  on  earth  —  "  then  caught 
up  her  words,  for  the  man  stood  on  the  step. 

I  could  not  catch  what  he  said,  he  spoke  in  so  low 


26         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

a  voice ;  but  I  heard  Aunt  Lize  ask  him  in,  and  say 
she  would  call  her  husband ;  I  heard  Twiddie  set  a 
chair  for  him,  and  then  run  to  the  water-butt  in  the 
shed  and  bring  him  a  dipper  of  water. 

By  good  luck  I  had  the  three-cornered  piece  of 
looking-glass  in  my  hand,  and  turned  it  at  such  an 
angle  that  I  could  see  the  man  without  his  seeing 
me,  although  he  was  in  direct  range  of  the  beard 
and  the  hair  lying  just  on  the  threshold.  He  must 
have  thought  there  was  some  Samson  and  Delilah 
business  going  on  just  before  his  arrival,  for  Aunt 
Lize  met  him  with  the  shears  in  hand.  She  was  back 
from  the  barn  before  the  stranger  had  finished  drink 
ing,  and,  knowing  that  I  had  steadily  refused  to  see 
any  one  save  the  doctor  for  nearly  two  years,  quickly 
shut  my  bedroom  door;  but  not  before  I  had  taken 
in  his  appearance  and  sized  him  up. 

A  city  man,  —  I  knew  by  the  cut  of  his  clothes  ;  I 
have  seen  such  in  Alderbury  and  on  the  Hornet,  — 
an  eye  that  saw  everything  in  the  room  without  ap 
parently  noticing  it;  dark  hair,  parted  in  the  middle 
like  the  dudes  I  Ve  read  about,  but  nothing  namby- 
pamby  about  him  for  all  that  —  I  'd  hate  to  run  up 
against  him  in  the  dark. 

I  was  wishing  I  could  catch  his  voice,  and  hear 
what  he  was  saying,  when,  without  warning,  the  bed 
room  door  flew  open,  and  Aunt  Lize  came  in  with 
more  boldness  of  manner  than  I've  ever  noticed  be 
fore  in  her,  saying: 

"  Here  's  a  gentleman  wants  ter  see  ye,  Hughie ; 
he 's  come  for  the  view." 

View  !  —  How  dared  he  !    I  'm  afraid  I  said,  "  Damn 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          27 

him,"  under  my  breath ;  for  what  was  he  to  come  be 
fore  me  with  his  health? 

And  I  —  I  was  a  fool,  and  answered  without  look 
ing  up : 

"I  hope  the  prospect  is  a  pleasing  one,  sir;  "  and 
pointed  to  my  useless  legs  under  the  old  patch-work 
quilt  Aunt  Lize  had  thrown  over  them  when  they  got 
me  on  the  cot. 

Then,  for  decency's  sake  (for  I  know  what  is  due 
to  a  stranger  beneath  my  roof),  and  for  very  shame 
at  the  manner  of  my  greeting,  I  put  out  my  hand, 
and  felt  the  firm,  warm  clasp  of  the  man's  —  the  palm 
tingling  with  health.  It  held  mine  close  ;  I  looked  up, 
and  the  eyes  that  met  mine  compelled  me  to  keep  on 
looking,  —  and  so  I  continued  to  stare  like  a  fool,  and 
knew  not  when  to  withdraw  my  hand.  Before  I  knew 
how  it  happened,  the  stranger  was  sitting  beside  my 
cot,  Aunt  Lize  had  disappeared,  and  only  Twiddle 
stood  with  her  finger  in  her  mouth  at  the  foot  of  the 
cot,  staring  as  I  had  stared  —  so  how  could  I  blame 
her?  —  and  we  were  talking  together  like  ol'd  acquaint 
ances,  and  I  telling  him  of  the  year  and  seven  months 
at  the  Academy,  and  how  I  had  hated  the  farmer's 
life  and  wanted  to  study  for  a  profession  —  I  didn't 
tell  him  what ;  and  when  he  rose  to  go,  and  said 
"  Good-by,"  I  bethought  me  he  had  not  expressed 
sympathy  for  me  by  so  much  as  a  word  or  look,  and 
I  was  grateful  to  him  — if  he  had,  I  think  I  must  have 
struck  him. 

Uncle  Shim  offered  to  take  him  down  to  meet  the 
stage,  but  the  stranger  —  no,  he  is  no  longer  that-- 
the  man  said,  no,  with  thanks,  that  Twiddie  was  going 


28         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

down  with  him  ;  and  from  the  window  I  saw  them 
going  up  the  Pent  Road  together,  the  child  skipping 
along,  holding  by  his  hand.  When  they  reached  the 
clearing,  I  heard  her  laugh,  and  the  man's,  hearty  and 
ringing,  answering  it.  She  never  does  that  with  me. 
She  is  so  young  I  suppose  what  I  am  at  present  means 
to  her  what  I  have  always  been.  I  wish  she  would, 
though. 

I  paid  the  penalty  for  that  day  with  ten  days  on 
my  back  again. 

When  I  began  to  learn  the  multiplication-table,  I 
used  to  wonder  why  two  times  two  always  made  four, 
and  concluded,  in  my  small  way,  that  the  saw-horse 
in  the  middle  had  something  to  do  with  it.  I  'm  not 
much  wiser  now. 

Curious !  I  was  so  taken  up  with  the  man,  that  I 
never  thought  to  ask  his  name.  Uncle  Shim  says  he 
told  him  he  came  from  below  in  York  State,  and 
Aunt  Lize  said  there  was  that  about  him  she  dared 
not  ask  him  —  I  can  understand  that;  but  Twiddie 
tells  me  that,  as  she  sat  up  in  the  butternut  tree,  she 
could  look  onto  the  top  of  the  stage  into  the  space 
where  my  cot  came  from,  and  there  was  only  one 
valise  up  there,  a  light  one,  with  two  black  letters 
on  it,  P.  V.  During  these  last  days,  I  have  caught 
myself  saying  over  and  over  again,  "  P.  V.,"  and 
have  tried  all  sorts  of  names  to  fit  the  initials. 

Aunt  Lize  says,  when  she  was  a  little  girl  she  knew 
of  a  man  who  lived  over  the  Mountain,  and  moved 
to  York  State  years  ago;  his  name  was  Peleg  Ven- 
ables  —  and  maybe,  "  P.  V."  is  his  son.  Peleg  Ven- 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          29 

ables  —  I  don't  like  the  sound,  and  it  does  n't  fit  the 
man.  Peleg  Venables  !  —  Oh,  no ;  no  Peleg  Venables 
of  Olympus  ever  fathered  the  cut  of  those  trousers. 

Tuesday. 

Aunt  Lize  has  been  helping  Uncle  Shim  load  on 
the  ripened  corn  —  doing  my  work !  I  have  been 
watching  her.  Time  was,  I  should  have  pitied  her, 
but  now  I  envy  her,  so  lean  and  scrawny,  but  agile 
and  wiry  — 

Oh,  to  hoist  and  lift  and  heave,  to  pitch  and  toss ! 
To  race,  and  run,  and  corner  the  colts  !  To  roll  over 
and  over  down  the  pasture  slope,  till  sun  and  sky  and 
earth  whirled  around  me  as  centre  of  the  universe  !  — 
I  can't  help  it ;  I  Ve  struck  twice  —  hard  —  with  my 
shepherd's  crook  at  the  log-end  of  me ;  if  I  could  but 
feel  the  tingle  of  the  blood  again  —  clod  —  clod  — 
clod  that  I  am  ! 

Even  a  clod  can  nourish  a  kernel,  and  I  Ve  had  the 
germ  of  an  idea,  —  at  last. 

There 's  Aunt  Lize  this  very  minute  doing  the 
work  I,  and  not  she,  was  cut  out  to  do.  I  know  her 
back  ached  yesterday,  by  the  way  she  sat  down  after 
supper  while  Twiddie  was  wiping  the  dishes.  See 
her  now,  trying  to  hoist  that  shock !  — 

"Don't,  don't,  Aunt  Lize;  drop  it!  " 

I  Vc  hollered  for  all  I  am  worth,  but  she  can't  hear 
me ;  if  she  but  knew  it,  the  way  she  lifted  that  would 
strain  even  a  man  about  his  middle.  I  feel  guilty.  — 

My  idea  came  out  of  the  hole  of  one  of  Uncle 
Shim's  stockings.  I  heard  them  talking  in  the  kitchen 


30         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

before  they  went  to  bed.  Just  as  soon  as  cold 
weather  cornes,  Uncle  Shim  always  goes  about  in  his 
stocking-feet  after  supper  when  the  chores  are  all 
done,  and  Aunt  Lize  can't  break  him  of  the  habit. 
To-night  I  heard  her,  as  I  have  heard  her  a  hundred 
times  before. 

"  Shim  Lewis,  put  on  yer  down-ter-the-heels." 

"  No,  no,  Lize;   my  feet  air  tired ;   it  rests  'em." 

"  I  tell  ye,  Shim  Lewis,  I  can't  grow  wool  V  spin 
'n'  knit  it  fast  'nough  ter  keep  ye  in  stockin'-feet  — 
let  erlone  yer   legs ;    ye  wear  'em   out  so    fast  ker- 
hewing   eround    regardless   er    black    frost   sech    ez 
we  're  goin'  ter  hev  ter-night." 

"  Wai,  wal,  Lize,  I  '11  stretch  out  here  on  the 
settle  'n'  save  my  woollen  shoe-leather,  ef  ye  say  so. 
I'm  glad  the  corn's  in." 

"  So  be  I ;  — what  ye  haulin'  up  yer  right  foot  fer 
thet  way  ?  " 

"  Sho,  Lize !  Can't  a  man  git  er  cramp  'thout  er 
woman's  axin'  him  how  he  got  it?" 

"  No,  he  can't,  not  ef  thet  woman 's  his  lawful 
wife; — see  here,  Shim,  stretch  out  that  foot,  now 
do." 

When  Aunt  Lize  pleads  there  is  no  resisting  her. 
I  heard  Uncle  Shim  stretch  out  his  leg;  there 
followed  a  shrill  outcry : 

"  Oh,  my  soul !  Shim  Lewis,  when  'd  ye  change 
yer  stockin's  last?  —  sech  er  hole  !  big  toe  'n'  middle 
toe  clean  through.  '  Cramps !  '  I  '11  hev  ter  knit 
from  now  t'll  sugarin'-off  to  keep  ye  clear  er  sech 
cramps  ez  thet." 

I  heard  Uncle  Shim  chuckle. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          31 

I  Ve  proposed  to  Aunt  Lize  to  swap  work :  I  '11 
knit  the  stockings  for  the  family  if  she  '11  show  me 
how.  The  look  on  her  face  !  But  we  're  agreed.  I 
heard  her  singing  afterwards,  for  the  first  time  since 
I  Ve  lain  here  —  an  old  verse  of  Watts's.  I  Ve  heard 
her  sing  it  ever  since  I  can  remember  anything;  but 
I  Ve  had  to  put  my  fingers  in  my  ears  —  it  irritates 
me ;  still  I  can  hear  it,  for  the  mind  hears  as  well 
as  sees. 

"  '  Change  me,  O  God  !  my  flesh  shall  be 
An  instrument  of  song  to  thee, 
And  thou  the  notes  inspire.'  " 

October  5th. 

I  heard  them  say  they  were  going  to  gather  the 
apples  next  week.  I  wish  I  were  where  I  could  see 
the  orchard,  but  it 's  on  the  other  side  of  the  house. 

It 's  my  own  house,  and  I  don't  see  why  I  can't 
have  any  room  in  it  I  choose. 

I  told  Aunt  Lize  this  morning,  when  she  brought 
in  my  breakfast,  that  I  'd  like  to  move  over  into  the 
best  room.  I  saw  by  her  face  she  was  taken  aback, 
but  I  was  n't  quite  prepared  for  her  reply. 

"  Ther  ain't  no  reason  why  ye  can't,  Hughie  — 
only,  what  be  we  goin'  ter  do  fer  the  fun'rals  'n'  wed- 
din's,  ef  we  give  up  the  best  room?  Ther's  ben  more 
'n  er  dozen  of  each  in  't  already." 

"  I  '11  be  the  one  to  move  out  for  the  next  funeral, 
Aunt  Lize  —  don't  you  fret  about  that;  and  as  for 
the  weddings  —  " 

But  she  interrupted  me,  speaking  sharply,  —  and 
I  know  I  hurt  her;  I  suppose  I  meant  to, — 


32         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

"Don't,  Hughie,  oh,  don't!  "  and  flung  out  of  the 
room.  Afterwards  I  heard  her  moving  and  sweeping 
and  re-settling,  and  the  Sunday  passed  in  confusion. 
At  night  they  moved  me  in  on  the  cot.  Upon  my 
suggestion,  Uncle  Shim  took  down  the  air-tight  stove 
and  the  fire-board,  and  cleaned  up  the  fire-place. 
Twiddie  brought  in  an  armful  of  dry  pine  boughs 
full  of  rosin,  and  in  five  minutes  the  room  was  light 
enough  to  knit  by.  Aunt  Lize  gave  me  my  first 
lesson  Saturday  afternoon.  I  'm  on  plain  "  back 
wards  and  forwards,"  she  tells  me. 

I  snarl  up  so  dreadfully  —  I  can't  get  the  hang  of 
the  kink  of  yarn  around  my  little  finger  joint.  Even 
cursing  does  n't  help  it. 

I  find  Aunt  Lize  has  removed  the  coffin-plates  from 
the  mantel-shelf — there  were  fifteen  of  them  —  and 
taken  down  the  family  hair-wreath.  She  left  the 
Bible,  but  I  asked  her  to  put  it  away,  as  well  as  some 
theological  books  of  my  father's ;  —  I  don't  want  to 
see  a  book  around ;  it  puts  me  too  much  on  the 
defensive. 

I  like  this  room.  I  don't  get  every  smell  from  the 
kitchen  as  I  did  in  the  other.  When  Aunt  Lize  was 
washing  and  getting  dinner,  whew! — I  couldn't 
breathe,  and  had  to  ask  Twiddie  to  open  the  win 
dows  wide.  And  yet  I  Ve  known  the  time  when  the 
smell  of  a  boiled  onion  and  the  crisping  sizzle  of  the 
salt  pork  in  its  own  fat  was  a  thing  to  say  my  prayers 
for,  by  reason  of  the  keen  hunger  gnawing  at  my 
stomach. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          33 

I  don't  think  my  friend  P.  V.  —  I  like  to  call  him 
so  —  could  find  many  outs  about  the  views  from  this 
room.  He  said  I  did  not  have  much  from  the  other; 
only  the  corn-patch  and  the  woods  and  the  cursed 
clearing  to  help  me  not  to  forget  —  that  I  could  see 
Twiddie  coming  down  the  Pent  Road  just  after  stage- 
time,  if  I  chose  to  look. 

I  vowed  I  would  speak  out  all  my  thoughts  in  this 
one-sided  written  talk  of  mine ;  but  I  find  it  is  best 
for  a  man  not  to  look  too  closely  at  himself  some 
times,  nor  to  hear  his  own  voice  too  often. 

My  cot  is  in  the  south-east  angle  of  the  room,  be 
tween  the  one  east  window  and  the  two  southern 
ones.  I  can  look  both  ways.  This  afternoon  they 
have  been  harvesting  the  apples,  young  Tag  and 
Twiddie  helping.  I  used  to  be  proud  of  our  orchard ; 
twenty  of  the  young  trees  I  set  out  thirteen  years  ago 
on  the  slope  south  of  the  big  hemlock  "  bush,  "  that 
comes  down  over  the  ledge  from  the  timber  line, 
wedge-shaped  —  its  entering  point  a  rod  or  two  from 
the  end  of  the  house. 

The  slope  is  so  steep  that  I  can  look  over  the 
orchard  to  the  valley  of  the  White  Branch,  and  the 
great  peaks  of  Killington  and  Pico  a  little  east  of 
south.  The  Pent  Road  runs  between  the  house  and 
the  orchard ;  to  the  south,  I  can  see  it  trailing  along 
down  the  pastures  to  the  highroad  from  Gilead. 

To-day,  looking  from  the  window,  I  found  myself 
a  stranger  in  thought  on  every  foot  of  my  land  in 
sight; — yet  there  is  not  a  square  rod  I  have  not 
been  over  as  a  boy. 


34         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Twiddle  is  driving  the  light-weight  truck  up  the 
road  from  the  orchard ;  it  is  loaded  with  a  dozen  bar 
rels  of  apples —  she  is  driving  it  well,  too  !  Even  at 
this  distance,  I  can  see  their  complexions,  for  I  am 
looking  down  upon  them ;  the  tanned  russets,  the 
noble  pound-sweets  —  forty-five  to  a  bushel! — the 
darker  winter-greenings,  the  red  Northern  Spies. 
How  wholesome  and  thrifty  and  pleasant  and  sound 
they  look  —  sound  to  the  core,  I  '11  warrant.  They  're 
too  young  for  a  scab  or  worm ;  too  young  and  sound 
-and  I! 

Last  night,  as  I  lay  awake,  I  tried  to  count  up  the 
things  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  must  have  gone 
without  to  buy  me  this  cot. 

I  have  noticed  lately  that  everything  is  sweetened 
with  maple  sugar,  and  am  convinced  that  I  am  the 
only  one  who  has  had  white  sugar  for  a  year  past. 

Then  there  's  the  semi-weekly  county  paper  that 
Uncle  Shim  used  to  take  ;  —  I  have  n't  seen  Twiddie 
bring  it  in  once  since  I  began  to  take  notice  of  things, 
back  in  September.  Neither  have  I  been  conscious 
of  the  strength  of  Uncle  Shim's  cut-plug  since  —  I 
don't  know  when  ;  and  as  they  dragged  the  cot 
through  the  kitchen  the  other  day,  I  missed  an  old- 
fashioned  bureau,  that  Aunt  Lize  told  me  was  a  part 
of  my  grandmother's  first  housekeeping  outfit.  Her 
mother  gave  it  to  Aunt  Lize ;  I  know  she  set  great 
store  by  it.  It  had  brass  knobs  and  little  fluted  col 
umns,  and  a  queer  inlaid  vine-pattern  of  curled  maple. 
The  piece  was  cherry.  —  What  more?  Oh,  how  long 
is  this  to  last! 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          35 

This  morning,  when  I  heard  them  at  breakfast,  I 
called  to  Aunt  Lize: 

"  Aunt  Lize,  bring  me  in  a  cup  of  your  coffee ; 
something  is  the  matter  with  mine." 

She  came  in  looking  distressed  and  anxious. 

"  I  made  it  jest  ez  usual,  Hughie  :  cream  'n'  sugar, 
'n'  beat  up  an  egg,  'n'  all.  —  P'r'aps  I  b'iled  it  too 
long;  le'  me  taste."  She  was  about  to  take  the  cup, 
but  I  caught  her  two  hands. 

"  Aunt  Lize,  you  know  you  can't  tell  a  lie ;  you 
have  n't  got  any  coffee  for  yourself  or  Uncle  Shim  — 
now  confess !  " 

She  brightened  up  a  bit  at  that,  and,  looking  me 
straight  in  the  eyes,  lied  just  like  a  Christian  woman 
—  so  eagerly  and  convincingly! 

"  Why,  no,  Hughie ;  we  hain't  drunk  er  drop  fer 
more 'n  er  year.  The  doctor  said  'twuz  the  wust 
kinder  thing  fer  liver-complaint,  'n'  yer  uncle  'n'  I 
both  hed  er  tech  on 't  jest  'bout  er  year  ago  this 
time  —  "  I  drew  her  down  beside  me  —  resisting,  — 
but  I  find  I  'm  much  stronger  in  my  arms ;  perhaps, 
after  all,  I  sha'n't  belie  my  name,  Hugh  Armstrong. 

"  Aunt  Lize,  there  is  n't  a  sounder  liver  in  this 
township  than  yours ;  but  if  you  tell  such  whoppers 
about  it,  you  '11  have  a  bad  conscience,  and  that,  and 
worry,  the  doctors  say,  are  the  root  of  every  liver 
trouble  in  the  world  since  the  days  of  Job  and  bad 
blood." 

But  she  stuck  to  her  point  "  The  doctor  did  say 
so  —  I  ain't  er-goin'  back  on  what  I  said  — 

"  Well,  if  he  did,"  I  interrupted  her,  "  you  got  him 
to  say  it  to  fool  me —  now  did  n't  you?  " 


36         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

For  answer,  she  changed  the  subject,  picking  up 

my  first  stocking  from  the  table  by  the  cot.  —  "  I  see 

ye 're  heelin'  neat  ez  er  pin;  ther  ain't  nothin'  more 

ter  learn  but  '  toein'  off';  ye  Ve  learned  awful  quick, 

—  now  le'  me  go  —  thar 's  Shim  er-callin'  !  " 

Yes,  Aunt  Lize,  I  'm  "  healing  "  in  another  sense  ;  I 
know  by  the  change  in  Twiddie.  To-day  she  came 
to  the  door  while  I  was  knitting,  and  stood  on  the 
threshold,  the  hollow  of  one  bare,  brown  foot  curv 
ing  over  the  instep  of  the  other,  and  all  ten  toes 
wriggling  like  cut-worms  beneath  a  hobnail  shoe; 
both  hands  behind  her;  silent,  but  watchfully  ob 
servant.  Tag,  however,  the  six  months  collie,  who 
had  followed  her  into  the  house,  suddenly  brushed 
past  her  with  a  switch  of  his  tail  that  sent  her  over 
the  threshold,  and,  stemming  his  paws  on  the  cot, 
nosed  my  hand  until  I  caressed  him. 

I  have  n't  wanted  him  around  before  —  and  even  a 
dog  knows  when  he  is  n't  welcome.  To-day  neither 
child  nor  dog  fought  shy  of  me.  The  dog  leaped 
joyfully  to  my  face,  and  the  rough  tongue  gave  the 
return  caress  in  its  own  way;  the  child  drew  near, 
and  held  out  to  me  a  bunch  of  late  violets,  blue  and 
white,  which  she  had  found  in  a  warm,  sun-beshone 
angle  of  the  sheep-pasture,  beneath  some  fallen  leaves. 

I  put  my  arm  around  her,  and  drew  her  down  upon 
the  cot.  I  said  nothing,  but  I  held  her  two  feet  in 
the  clasp  of  my  warm  hand,  for  they  were  half-numb 
with  cold  —  I  shall  knit  her  some  stockings  at  once. 
I  waited,  for  she  is  always  shy  with  me;  and  when 
I  saw  she  was  ready,  I  met  her  more  than  half  way ;  — 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          37 

she  nestled  into  the  hollow  of  my  arm,  threw  back 
her  head  on  my  shoulder,  and  when  I  smiled  down 
at  her,  she  smiled  up  at  me  —  and  I  knew  I  was 
forgiven. 

So  late  in  October,  yet  the  warm  wind  draws  in 
through  my  open  south  windows,  and  I  can  hear  the 
rush  of  the  brook  and  the  plunge  of  the  waterfall  into 
the  rocky  basin  of  the  pool  down  in  the  Hollow  — 
what  a  hillside  that  is  that  rises  almost  perpendicularly 
three  hundred  feet  just  across  it!  The  bare  poles  of 
white  and  yellow  birch  are  set  as  thick  on  the  face  of 
it  as  a  hedge-hog's  quills.  The  delicate  tops  catch 
the  sunlight  in  a  curious  way,  and  the  result,  as  seen 
from  my  window,  is  a  luminous  vertical  perspective. 
There  used  to  be  a  vulture's  nest  just  under  the  rock 
that  overhangs  the  cliff  at  the  top ;  I  climbed  to  it 
when  a  boy.  There 's  an  outcrop  of  quartz  that 
marks  —  the  spot  from  here. 

Just  then,  I  heard  the  whir  of  a  partridge  rising 
from  cover  somewhere  near  the  hemlock-bush,  —  I 
wonder  where  they've  put  my  gun?  I  always  kept 
it  in  the  rack  at  the  head  of  my  bed.  I  never  knew 
when  I  might  need  it  —  for  a  fox  sneaking  into  the 
open,  or  a  deer  ranging  the  clearing,  for  a  hen-hawk 
or  an  eagle. 

Many  a  fifty-cent  bounty  on  a  fox,  as  well  as  the 
price  of  the  pelt,  went  into  my  French  and  Latin 
text-books  and  the  two  dictionaries  —  useless  lumber 
now. 

It  is  the  interest  on  the  mortgage,  and  the  taxes, 
and  /,  as  I  am,  that  will  ruin  this  place  in  the  end. 


38         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

I  am  on  my  second  pair  of  stockings  —  for  Twiddie. 
Uncle  Shim  was  good  enough  to  say  I  beat  Aunt 
Lize  "  all  holler."  I  should  be  ashamed  if  I  couldn't, 
for  the  strength  is  coming  back  into  my  fingers  and 
wrists  and  arms.  Night  and  day  I  think,  think,  think 
—  what  can  I  do?  till  the  blood  pounds  against  my 
ear-drums,  and  prevents  sleep. 

I  am  beginning  to  understand  something  of  what 
a  woman  may  feel  when  she  knits,  or  sews  "  to  ease 
her  mind."  I  Ve  heard  Aunt  Lize  say  that  many  a 
time.  I  'm  knitting  "  ribbed  "  stockings,  and  have  to 
attend  to  my  business  of  counting  fairly  closely,  or 
the  "  three  plain  and  three  heel  "  interfere  with  one 
another. 

Then,  too,  the  mere  rapid  motion  of  the  fingers  is 
easing,  and  the  steady  click  of  the  needles  means 
progress  towards  a  definite  toe  —  something,  in  fact, 
made. 

If  it  is  such  a  pleasure  simply  to  make,  to  manu 
facture —  what  must  it  be  to  create? 

I  startled  myself  to-day  by  laughing  —  out  loud, 
too,  and  gave  Aunt  Lize  a  fright  into  the  bargain. 
She  came  in  on  the  run  —  hands  all  dough,  a  big  dust 
of  flour  on  her  nose,  her  eyes  like  green  gooseberries, 
and  insisted  upon  putting  the  camphor  bottle  to  my 
nose.  At  which  I  Inughed  immoderately,  and  that 
did  n't  improve  matters;  but  in  the  end  she  laughed 
as  heartily  as  did  I. 

Aunt  Lize  was  making  bread  on  the  kitchen  table, 
and  I  was  knitting,  when  a  man  came  along  the  Pent 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          39 

Road  by  the  east  window  and  around  the  house  to  the 
kitchen  door.  Just  then  I  heard  Twiddie  rush  in 
from  the  shed  and  herald  his  approach. 

"  What's  he  look  like?  "  said  Aunt  Lize. 

"  Like  the  man  at  camp-meetin'  las'  summer,  the 
one  with  the  queer  nose  'n'  - 

"  I  know  all  'bout  him"  said  Aunt  Lize,  grimly.  — 
"  Go  out  to  the  barn,  Twiddie,  'n'  hender  Uncle  Shim 
from  comin'  in  fer  er  spell;   Shim  can't  abide  'em  — 
'n'  don't  ye  come  back  t'll  I  call  ye,  both  on  ye !  " 

As  Twiddie  scudded  away,  the  man  knocked  and 
entered  without  waiting  for  an  invitation  from  Aunt 
Lize. 

"  Sister  Lewis,  hope  ter  see  ye  well." 

"Thank  ye,"  said  Aunt  Lize,  still  kneading;  I 
could  hear  the  thumps.  "  Ye  '11  never  see  me  any 
better." 

"  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  health  of  the  righteous, 
Sister  Lewis ;  but  from  all  I  hear  roundabouts,  the 
law  is  wiped  out  fer  sech  ez  yew."  (Thumpity- 
thump-thump.)  "  I  have  called  ter-day  -  "  here  he 
cleared  his  throat  admonishingly,  but  Aunt  Lize  gave 
no  sign, — "to  confer  consarnin'  the  state  of  yer  soul, 
fer  '  now  is  the  accepted  time  and  now  is  the  day  of 
salvation  '  -  —  even  fer  backsliders." 

"  Ye  must  n't  take  it  ermiss  ef  I  keep  right  on  with 
the  bread,"  said  Aunt  Lize,  cheerfully;  "  I  'm  kinder 
behindhand  this  mornin'." 

"  Do  ye  know  Who  said,  '  I  am  the  bread  of 
life'?" 

"  Wai,  I  ain't  er  fool  ef  I  do  live  on  'Lympus," 
retorted  Aunt  Lize,  sharply. 


40        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"  Sister  Lewis,  I  perceive  we  air  at  variance  on  this 
subjec'  —  may  I  ask  ye  a  simple  question  ?  " 

"  I  hain't  no  objection."  The  thumps  were  increas 
ing  in  vigor. 

"  Is  yer  soul  saved,  my  sister?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  'tis,"  said  Aunt  Lize  with  cheerful  assur 
ance,  "  but  I  don't  like  t^r  brag  much  on  't —  't  ain't 
my  way." 

"An"  hez  it  ben  scourged  ter  the  glory  of  God,  my 
sister,  ez  is  meet  fer  them  that  aspires  ter  the  ever- 
lastin'  crown  of  the  martyrs?" 

"  Guess  ye  'd  think  so  ef  ye  wuz  ter  go  down  ter 
Old  Church  Settlement ;  —  ye  'd  find  fifteen  head 
stones  all  in  er  row  —  nine  on  'em  's  marble,  but  the 
rest  is  slate  —  all  mine,  too.  I  guess  them  signposts 
don't  lie  when  it  comes  ter  '  scourgin'.'  - 

I  thought  I  heard  a  break  in  Aunt  Lize's  voice,  but 
I  wasn't  sure;  she  was  still  thumping  so  unmercifully 
that  I  could  n't  catch  the  man's  next  words,  but  in  a 
lull  I  heard  him  say:  "  Let  us  pray,  my  sister."  By 
the  aid  of  the  three-cornered  piece  of  looking-glass 
I  had  begged  of  Aunt  Lize,  I  saw  him  kneel  be 
fore  the  settle.  Then  I  heard  Aunt  Lize's  cheerful 
voice. 

"  Ye  can  pray  jest  ez  long  'n'  ez  much  cz  ye  're  er 
min'  ter,  ef  ye  '11  feel  any  better  for  't  —  I  've  got  ter 
see  ter  this  bread,  it's  riz  too  much."  And  then 
there  followed  such  a  rattling  of  pans,  such  openings 
and  shuttings  of  the  oven  door,  such  a  sparring-match 
with  the  dough,  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  catch 
a  word  of  the  petition. 

In  five  minutes'  time  the  room  was  clear,  the  man 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          41 

gone,  the  bread  at  rest,  and  AuntLize  offering  me  the 
camphor  bottle.  Complete  rout ! 

"  Wai,"  she  said,  in  extenuation  of  her  inhospitable 
attitude,  "  I  can't  abide  them  Methody  travellin' 
agents,  Hughie ;  they  rile  me  wus  'n  rhubub  'n'  senny ; 
'n'  I  wuz  n't  goin'  ter  hev  him  git  track  er  you.  They 
sorter  peddle  patent  religton,  'n'  it  don't  set  well  on 
anybody  thet  's  got  the  real  article." 

Poor  Aunt  Lize  !  She  need  n't  count  on  my  know 
ing  anything  about  the  real  article  —  I,  who  have 
cursed  God,  and  could  not  die. 

I  remember  that  week  in  which  she  took  me  to  the 
camp-meeting  up  at  Stony  Brook,  over  Farnsfield  way. 
I  was  just  fifteen,  and  on  the  Sunday  before  "  break- 
ing-up  Monday,"  I  got  religion — so  they  said,  and  I 
thought  I  had.  They  prayed  hard  for  me  ;  —  somehow 
I  found  myself  on  the  sinner's  bench,  and  I  felt  awed. 
Every  lie  I  'd  told,  every  mean  thing  I  'd  done,  every 
oath  I  'd  sworn,  lay  heavy  upon  me  and  made  my 
heart  beat  hard.  And  before  I  knew  it  I  was  down  on 
my  knees,  and  the  whole  crowd  groaning  and  praying 
and  shouting  like  mad ;  then  I  caught  the  look  on 
Aunt  Lize's  face; — that  settled  it.  I  rose  up,  and 
said  I  was  on  the  Lord's  side,  and  felt  important  be 
cause  the  elders  and  the  evangelist  and  the  folks 
shook  hands  with  me  and  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder, 
crying  out  between  singing  and  shouting:  "  Glory  be 
to  God!  —  he's  got  it!" — and  I  thought  I  had! 
Fool! 

There  was  a  flurry  of  snow  this  morning.  They 
are  late  with  the  husking.  I  asked  Aunt  Lize  if  I 


42        The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

could  n't  help  some,  and  she  said  we  would  manage  it, 
someway.  They  rigged  me  out  with  a  bushel  basket 
for  husks  beside  the  cot,  a  tin  pan  on  it,  and  a  horse- 
blanket  across  it.  Then  Uncle  Shim  came  in  with  a 
great  half-shock  of  corn  in  his  arms,  and  laid  it  on  the 
floor  beside  me ;  it  piled  above  my  head,  and  seemed 
to  fill  half  the  room. 

They  left  me  alone  after  that  —  for  they  were  busy 
in  the  barn.  I  was  glad  to  be;  the  nearness  of  the 
fresh-smelling  leaves,  the  glint  of  yellow  ears  between 
the  faded  husks,  the  sweetness  of  the  stalk  —  the 
first  thing  I  did  was  to  chew  an  end  —  sent  a  strange 
thrill  of  life  through  the  living  part  of  me ;  the  tears 
came. 

Yet  how  I  hated  it  all,  after  I  was  fifteen  !  I  grew 
so  restless  then;  the  Mountain  freedom  was  too  con 
fined  for  me.  Aunt  Lize  encouraged  me  —  for  she  is 
proud  of  her  sister's  having  married  a  professional  man 
—  to  seek  the  nearest  way  out  of  it  all :  the  plough 
ing,  the  harrowing,  the  digging,  the  threshing,  the 
hewing  and  felling  and  chopping,  and  become  a  min 
ister  like  my  father.  She  meant  well ;  and  I  cheated 
myself  into  thinking  I  'd  had  a  "  call  "  ;  —  // 

My  husking  did  n't  work.  I  made  a  great  litter 
which  it  took  Aunt  Lize  an  hour  to  clean  up.  Some 
how  the  pesky  kernels  got  between  the  coverings,  and 
the  chaff  and  dust  lay  white  on  everything.  It 's  no 
use  —  no  use. 

The  ice  that  formed  on  a  sap-bucket  just  outside 
my  window  is  an  inch  thick  this  morning.  Twiddie 
tells  me  Uncle  Shim  is  up  in  the  pine  lot  near  the  Old 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          43 

Pasture  cutting  four-foot  logs  for  my  fireplace.  She 
has  been  up  there  too.  I  saw  her  pass  the  window 
just  now  with  a  big  bundle  of  fagots  on  her  head.  I 
felt  a  personal  interest  in  her  legs,  for  they  were  cased 
in  the  brown-ribbed  stockings  I  knit  for  her.  I  'm 
on  my  fifth  pair,  but  they  take  me  longer,  for  Uncle 
Shim's  shank  can  be  measured  by  the  ell. 

The  open  fire  is  a  pleasant  thing.  The  fierce  wind 
that  is  raging  over  the  Mountain  drives  the  smoke 
and  flame,  at  times,  into  the  room;  it  gives  me  — 
even  me  —  a  sense  of  power. 

Twiddie  is  crying  in  the  kitchen  because  Aunt  Lize 
would  n't  let  her  go  down  to  see  the  stage  pass ;  —  in 
this  wild  weather  !  What  is  the  child  thinking  of? 

I  have  been  watching  the  night  come  from  the  east; 
it  is  now  half-past  five,  but  dark  as  pitch;  — the  sleet 
rattles  against  the  windows,  and  there  is  alternate  roar 
and  lull  of  the  wind  in  the  chimney.  The  firelight  is 
so  bright  I  can  knit  by  it,  and  as  Twiddie  likes  to 
see  the  play  of  the  shadows  on  the  wall,  rising,  fall 
ing,  twisting,  dancing,  I  called  her  in  after  supper; 
I  don't  know  when  anything  has  tasted  so  good  — 
hot  roast  potatoes,  fresh  brown-bread,  and  a  slice  of 
Uncle  Shim's  well-cured  bacon. 

She's  a  curious  specimen. 

As  she  sat  on  the  rug  before  the  fire  with  her  elbows 
on  her  knees  and  her  chin  in  her  palms,  silent, — she 
does  n't  talk  much,  —  I  wondered  what  she  could  be 
thinking  of.  Finally  I  asked  her. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Twiddie?  Tell  me." 
She  turned  suddenly,  and,  catching  sight  of  her  con- 


44        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

torted  shadow  on  the  wall,  laughed  gleefully  —  I  like 
to  hear  her  laugh  —  before  she  answered  : 

"  Thinkin'  mad  'bout  Aunt  Lize,  'coz  she  would  n't 
let  me  go  down  to  see  the  stage  —  but  I  ain't  now," 
she  added  shyly,  making  loops  with  her  two  hands  to 
form  a  goose-shadow  on  the  wall. 

"What  do  you  do  when  you  go  down  to  meet  the 
stage  ?  " 

"  I  git  up  in  the  butt'nut  tree  sometimes,  'n'  some 
times  I  git  behind  the  fence  where  ther's  er  patch  er 
brakes,  'n'  when  I  lay  flat,  the  folks  can't  see  me  — 
2ven  Uncle  Jo  could  n't  find  me." 

"What  folks?" 

"  The  folks  I  know." 

"What  are  their  names?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Ye  won't  tell  Aunt  Lize 
*f  I  tell  ye?" 

"No." 

She  lowered  her  voice :  "  I  make  b'lieve,  ye  know. 
I  learn  all  the  letters  on  the  trunks  'n'  valises  by  heart 
—  jes'  ez  we  do  in  school  —  'n'  then  I  play  I  know  all 
the  folks  they  b'long  ter,  'n'  I  go  off  with  'em  down  ter 
Rutland,  'n'  Alderbury,  'n',  oh —  way,  way  off,  most  ez 
fur  ez  York  State." 

"  How  many  do  you  know,  Twiddie?" 

"  I  dunno  —  'bout  twenty,  I  guess ;  ye  want  ter  hear 
'em?" 

"  Yes.  —  Curl  up  here  on  the  cot  beside  me,  or 
you'll  have  a  blister  on  your  nose."  She  laughed, 
and  nestled  into  the  hollow  of  my  arm  as  she  did  that 
time  when  she  forgave  me. 

"  Now  you  can  whisper,  and  Aunt  Lize  can't  hear 
our  secrets." 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          45 

"  First,  ye  know,  ther  's  P.  V.  —  he 's  real,  ain't  he  ? '; 

I  smiled  for  answer,  for,  in  spirit,  the  man  still  sits 
beside  my  cot,  and  at  times  I  can  feel  the  firm,  warm 
clasp  of  his  hand ;  his  presence  is  more  real  to  me 
than  the  child's  beside  me. 

"What  next?" 

"Then  ther's  S.  M.  'n'  L.  K.  V  O.  M.;  they're  all 
ladies,  thet  sit  inside  'n'  look  out  of  the  winder,  'n'  bow 
to  me;  'n'  then  ther's  K.  O.  'n'  F.  D.  'n'  S.  E.  'n'  two 
H.  P.'s,  —  they  're  twins  —  'n'  they  all  set  up  with  Uncle 
Jo  on  top  of  the  stage,  'n'  take  off  their  hats  ter  me  jes' 
ez  Mr.  P.  V.  did  thet  day,  ye  'member?"  I  nodded 
emphatically,  although  I  had  not  seen  him  bestow  the 
greeting. 

"  'N'  then  ther's  er  boy  thet  sets  on  behind  where 
the  trunks  are  —  I  mean  when  ther'  ain't  no  trunks  — 
'n'  dangles  his  legs ;  'n'  he  gits  down  when  he  sees 
me,  'n'  says,  '  Miss  Twiddie  Lewis,  here's  yermail,'  'n' 
then  he  puts  the  letters  inter  the  squirrel-hole,  'n' 
then  he  jumps  up  behind  agin,  'n'  Uncle  Jo  cracks  his 
whip  'n'  says,  '  Good-by,  Twiddie,  ther  '11  be  some  ter- 
morrer  sure,'  'n'  then  the  stage  goes  off,  'n'  I  put  my 
hand  inter  the  hole  'n'  take  out  the  mail  —  " 

"What  mail?" 

"  Why,  the  mail  the  boy  leaves,"  she  answered  in  a 
surprised  tone  ;  "  'n'  then  I  read  the  letters,  'n'  they  're 
from  all  the  folks  I  know  —  thet 's  why  I  wuz  cryin', 
'coz  Aunt  Lize  would  n't  let  me  go  down  fer  it  ter-day, 
'n'  I  know  ther  's  a  letter,  —  one  anyway." 

What  could  I  say  but:  "  How  do  the  letters  begin, 
Twiddie?" 

"  Some  on  'em  begin,  '  Dear  Miss  Lewis,'  'n'  some, 


46         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

'  Dear  Miss/  'n'  some, '  Dear  Miss  Twiddie,'  'n'  'nother 
allus  writes,  '  Dear  Twiddie  ;  '  •  —  but  ther  's  one,  ye 
won't  tell?  —  " 

"  Never." 

"  Not  er  livin'  soul?" 

"  True  as  you  live  and  breathe,  Twiddie." 

"  He  allus  begins,  '  Dearest  Theodora'  "  (I  'd  for 
gotten  that  is  the  child's  name,  for  '  Twiddie '  was  her 
four-year-old  pronunciation  of  Theodora  when  she 
first  came  to  us,  and  we  have  always  called  her  that), 
"  'n'  hisn  are  the  best.  He  writes  every  day." 

"  And  what  is  his  name?  " 

She  twisted  herself  out  of  my  arm  and  sat  down 
again  before  the  fire,  back  to  me,  with  her  elbows  on 
her  knees  and  her  chin  in  her  palms.  "  Ye  won't 
tell?" 

"  Never." 

"  Nobody  in  all  this  world?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word  "  —  as  a  man,  I  was  going  to 
say ;  but  I  sickened  at  the  thought,  and  said,  "  gentle 
man  "  —  and  then  I  wondered  at  myself.  But  the 
child  spoke  joyfully: 

"  Why,  thet  's  jest  what  he  is  !     He  's  H.  A." 

"  And  have  you  seen  him  on  the  coach  too?  " 

She  answered  sorrowfully:  "No,  I  never  see  him 
there  ;  but  Uncle  Jo  says  he  's  ben  there  er  good  many 
times.  I  see  his  valise  onct.  Uncle  Jo  wuz  takin'  it 
home  fer  him,  'n'  thet 's  how  I  could  see  the  letters." 

"  Merciful  sakes,  Hughie  !  —  what  air  ye  keepin' 
this  child  up  fer?"  said  Aunt  Lize,  appearing  at  the 
door.  "  It's  long  past  her  bedtime." 

And  Twiddie  turned  with  a  merry  laugh.     "  Good- 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          47 

night,  Hughie,"  she  said,  with  her  finger  on  her  lips, 
and  ran   past  Aunt  Lize  like  a  small  whirlwind. 

The  wind  is  wild,  and  I  can't  sleep. 

Curious  !  Long  before  Twiddie  came  to  us  I  used, 
as  a  boy,  to  ride  on  the  trunk-rack  of  the  old  Hornet, 
holding  by  the  leathern  straps,  and  swinging  my  legs. 
That  was  my  treat,  and  Uncle  Jo  gave  it  to  me  when 
ever  he  could. 

Twiddie's  "  folks  "  have  been  peopling  the  room  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  embers.  Now  that  I  have  lighted 
my  lamp  to  write,  they  are  gone.  I  forgot  to  ask 
Twiddie  whose  was  the  letter  in  the  yellow  envelope 
that  she  brought  up  that  day.  That  was  a  real  one. 

November  loth. 

Killtngton  and  Pico  are  snow-capped  this  morning; 
Aunt  Lize  and  Twiddie  are  raking  up  the  leaves  under 
the  maples  in  the  south  dooryard  to  bank  the  house 
with.  Uncle  Shim  has  just  brought  down  a  load  of 
hemlock  boughs  to  lay  on  top  of  them ;  there  is  no 
chance  for  the  cellar  to  freeze  with  both  leaves  and 
boughs  to  protect  it;  they  keep  the  floors  from  being 
cold  too. 

Twiddie  went  down  for  her  "  mail "  this  forenoon, 
and  it  seemed  scarce  half  an  hour  before  I  heard  her 
back  again,  storming  through  the  shed  into  the  kitchen 
—  but  it  must  have  been  an  hour  and  a  half,  for  it  is 
good  four  miles  there  and  back.  Aunt  Lize  called 
to  her  from  the  pantry,  but  she  did  not  heed. 

"  Hughie,  Hughie  !     The  letter  — the  letter!"  she 
cried  in  her  clear,  high  voice,  tearing  into  the  room, 


48         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

flinging  herself  upon  the  cot  beside  me,  panting  — 
almost  breathless  —  and  thrusting  the  letter  into  my 
face.  At  her  cry  the  heart  of  me  leaped  in  my  throat 
as  a  trout  leaps  to  a  fresh-thrown  fly.  I  knew,  with 
out  her  telling  me,  from  whom  it  was ;  and  I  read  the 
address  thrice  aloud,  to  gain  time  before  sending 
Twiddie  from  the  room,  for  I  wanted  to  read  it  by 
myself,  —  "Mr.  Hugh  Armstrong,"  -  —  firm  and  solid, 
every  stroke,  like  the  clasp  of  his  hand. 

"Go,  now,  Twiddie,"  I  said.  "  If  there  's  any  mes 
sage  for  you  I  '11  tell  you  ;  shut  the  door." 

The  child  went,  but  not  before  she  had  flung  her 
arms  about  my  neck  and  whispered  joyfully :  "  I  told 
true,  didn't  I,  Hughie?"  And,  for  answer,  what 
could  I  do  but  kiss  her?  I,  who  for  nearly  two  years 
not  only  have  shunned,  but  hated  the  sight  of  every 
living  thing  that  has  the  wherewith  to  move  freely 
on  earth,  in  air  or  water —  whether  the  sheep-dog,  or 
the  child,  or  man  or  woman,  fish,  flesh,  or  fowl. 

The  letter  shall  lie  here  between  the  leaves  of  this 
book,  where  lie  the  late  violets  Twiddie  gave  me  the 
other  day. 

WASHINGTON  SQUARE,  NORTH, 

NEW  YORK,  Nov.  8th,  189-. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

I  have  recently  been  out  to  St.  Louis,  and  on  my 
return  trip  stopped  over  for  a  day  or  two  in  Cincin 
nati.  While  there,  I  visited  the  School  of  Wood- 
carving  for  the  purpose  of  placing  an  order  for  a 
friend.  There  are  many  pupils,  and  the  results  of 
their  labor  are  both  artistic  and  useful ;  I  am  much 
interested  in  it.  It  occurred  to  me  while  there  that 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          49 

you  also  might  be  interested  in  this  special  handi 
craft,  and  I  forward  to  you  one  of  the  circulars,  and 
a  book  which  gives  information  as  to  the  kinds  of 
wood  required  for  the  carvings  and  the  technical 
difficulties  to  be  overcome  in  working  them ;  there 
are  also  numerous  plates  of  designs. 

I  often  think  of  that  forest-belt  that  crowns  your 
Olympus  —  however  did  that  pagan  name  find  its 
lodging  among  the  Hebraic  nomenclature  of  Sharon, 
Gilead,  Lebanon,  that  your  pioneer  forefathers  took 
along  as  part  of  their  goods  and  chattels  when  they 
followed  the  Connecticut  upwards  from  its  mouth? 
I  noticed  several  tamaracks  here  and  there  on  the 
way  up  from  the  butternut  tree,  and  some  fine  speci 
mens  of  mountain-ash.  I  have  promised  myself  the 
pleasure,  sometime,  of  a  closer  acquaintance  with  all 
the  noble-bodied  individuals  of  that  special  timber- 
belt  that  lies  to  the  north  of  your  land. 

How  is  my  little  acquaintance  of  the  butternut  tree? 
Say  to  her  for  me  that  I  am  her  debtor  for  the 
pleasant  hour  in  your  room,  and  tell  her  to  look  for 
a  letter  from  me  any  time  between  now  and  Christ 
mas.  Will  you  express  to  Mrs.  Lewis  my  apprecia 
tion  of  her  courtesy?  And  with  best  remembrances 
for  you  and  Twiddle, 

Believe  me, 

Yours  faithfully, 

PHILIP  VANEVER. 

P.  S. — As  an  afterthought,  I  returned  to  the 
School  and  procured  a  set  of  tools  sufficient  to  ac 
complish  a  little  practical  experimenting  in  the  art, 
if  you  care  to  try.  Kindly  let  me  know  if  your 
woods  can  be  utilized  for  any  of  these  designs.  If 


50         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

you  don't  care  for  this,  give  the  tools  to  Twiddle, 
for  whom  I  shall  send  a  box,  by  express,  to  be 
used  in  all  weathers  for  her  "  mail."  I  enclose  two 
keys,  one  for  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle,  and  one  for  her, 
which  please  present  with  my  compliments. 

P.  V. 
November  nth. 

I  gave  the  key  and  the  message  to  Twiddie  last 
night — the  dumb  joy  of  the  child!  It  was  well 
worth  seeing.  The  key  is  so  mysterious !  She  is 
on  the  piece  of  rag  carpet  before  the  fire,  the  key 
hung  on  a  string  around  her  neck.  She  is  turning 
and  twisting  it  that  it  may  catch  the  firelight ;  but  she 
is  not  in  a  talkative  mood.  Doubtless  she  is  holding 
converse  with  her  "  folks." 

From  the  tall  pine  in  the  clearing  there  is  a  trust 
worthy  echo  of  the  post-horn  to  be  heard,  and  when 
the  wind  is  in  a  certain  direction  it  can  be  heard  at 
the  house.  Aunt  Lize  has  promised  Twiddie  that 
if  the  horn  sounds  Uncle  Shim  shall  harness  up  and 
take  her  down  for  the  package. 

They  have  been  watching  together  in  the  twilight 
up  there  at  the  pine,  but  have  come  home  disap 
pointed. 

November  I2th. 

Aunt  Lize  says  she  has  a  "  feeling  in  her  bones  " 
that  the  things  will  come  to-day.  To  help  Twiddie 
kill  time  till  four  o'clock  I  have  sent  her  down  the 
road  to  count  the  larch  trees,  and  to  bring  me  back  a 
branch. 

That  there  mijjht  be  no  mistake,  I  bade  her  fetch 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          51 

me  a  piece  of  charcoal  such  as  Aunt  Lize  keeps  on 
hand  to  use  in  boiling  cabbage,  and  with  it  I  drew  for 
her  on  a  bit  of  brown  paper  a  branch  of  the  tough, 
close-grained  tree.  I  had  the  trick  of  a  piece  of  char 
coal  when  I  was  a  little  chap  and  drew  trees  and  sheep 
and  loggers'  camps  on  the  flat  stones  beneath  the 
crotch  set  for  the  sap-kettles,  when  I  went  with  Aunt 
Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  over  into  the  sugar-bush. 

She  came  back  with  an  armful  of  the  bare  branches, 
and  reported  seven  half  a  mile  down  the  road. 

After  Twiddie  had  gone  up  to  the  pine  tree,  I 
opened  the  east  window  a  crack — almost  my  full 
arm-strength  has  come  back ;  —  I  wanted  to  listen  for 
the  horn.  It  was  still ;  everything  frost-bound,  but 
without  snow.  Straining  my  ears,  I  heard  a  faint 
echo  of  Uncle  Jo's  signal  blast;  the  sound  unheard 
until  now  for  —  has  it  been  a  lifetime? 

I  shut  the  window,  for  I  was  shaking ;  and  so  shut 
myself  in  again.  Christ !  — to  be  shut  in  to  this,  and 
shut  out  from  all  that !  Oh  !  I  fight,  I  fight,  having 
taken  my  stand,  but  the  black  thing  swoops  down 
upon  me  at  times,  and  every  struggle  but  tightens 
its  clutch  upon  me. 

It  was  like  the  breaking  of  a  nightmare,  when,  an 
hour  later,  I  heard  Twiddie  call  joyfully :  "  We  Ve 
got  'em,  Hughie ! "  Then  Uncle  Shim  came  in 
through  the  shed.  I  drew  a  long,  full  breath. —  It 
is  not  well  to  be  alone,  and  Aunt  Lize  trusted  me. 

November  I3th. 

The  book  is  a  revelation,  and  Twiddle's  box  an 
inspiration.  It  is  two  feet  by  a  foot  and  a  half;  made 


52         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

of  oak.  On  the  panel  of  the  door  is  carved  a 
squirrel ;  he  is  cracking  a  nut  he  holds  in  his  paws. 
Branches,  leaves,  and  acorn-cups  ornament  the  sides ; 
the  back  is  plain,  and  provided  with  screw-eyes  for 
hanging  or  fastening.  The  letter-drop  is  a  simulated 
squirrel-hole.  I  am  studying  the  book  and  the  tools. 
Meanwhile,  I  '11  make  those  meat-skewers  I  heard 
Aunt  Lize  asking  Uncle  Shim  for.  The  tamarack 
wood  is  just  the  thing  for  them. 

The  fire  was  blazing  —  Twiddle  on  the  rug  before 
it,  with  Tag  on  one  side  and  her  box  on  the  other  — 
and  I  was  whittling  for  all  I  was  worth,  when  I  caught 
myself  softly  whistling !     The  boy's   old    habit  had 
persisted. 

At  the  sound,  Tag  pointed  his  ears  and  was  on  the 
alert  at  once.  Twiddie  stole  out  of  the  room  —  and 
I,  whistling  all  the  while,  took  out  my  three-cornered 
bit  of  glass,  adjusted  it  at  the  right  kitchen-angle,  and 
saw  Aunt  Lize  listening  at  the  door,  just  out  of  sight, 
with  bent  head  and  clasped  hands.  The  tears  were 
running  down  her  cheeks,  her  lips  were  moving,  but 
no  sound  came.  I  continued  to  whistle  till  I  had 
finished  a  dozen  good  skewers. 

November  I7th. 

Twiddie  brought  me  this  morning  a  few  branches 
of  the  pine,  balsam  fir,  and  larch,  with  their  cones; 
and  all  day  long  I  have  been  pottering  with  a  piece 
of  charcoal  and  some  wrapping-paper.  I  Ve  been 
trying  my  tools,  too,  and  have  finished  the  book — • 
my  first  in  all  these  months. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          53 

In  my  answer  to  Philip  Vanever's  letter,  I  was 
ashamed  to  confess  I  did  n't  know  how  or  why 
Olympus  came  by  its  name.  I  Ve  been  no  better 
than  the  hogs  that  root  for  acorns,  and  never  once 
know  there  's  a  tree  above  them  that  lifts  its  top  into 
the  blue. 

November  i8th. 

Uncle  Shim  is  going  down  to  the  grist-mill  in 
Scawsville  to  get  the  corn  ground.  Twiddie  goes 
with  him,  and  Aunt  Lize  is  putting  up  their  dinner, 
for  it 's  an  all-day's  job.  They  are  going  to  stop  on 
the  way  to  put  up  the  mail-box  on  the  butternut  tree, 
and  Uncle  Shim  will  make  a  pent-roof  for  it  to  pro 
tect  it  from  the  rough  weather.  I  hate  to  see  it  go. 
They  have  driven  around  the  corner  of  the  house  for 
me  to  see ;  Twiddie  is  sitting  on  the  pile  of  meal- 
bags,  and  the  cart,  with  the  rack,  is  rilled  to  the  third 
board  —  a  good  half  cord. 

Uncle  Shim  used  to  let  me  ride  on  the  corn  when 
I  was  a  little  shaver,  and  root  into  it  as  I  liked.  It 
was  fun  to  feel  my  legs  work  downwards  into  the 
yielding  mass  —  it  was  like  treading  water. 

When  I  wrote  Philip  Vanever  the  other  day,  I 
found  myself  feeling  glad  I  had  had  that  year  and  a 
half  at  the  Academy.  I  came  late  to  the  training, 
but  I  bent  all  my  energy  to  it;  — I  earned  all  I  had, 
too,  by  the  five  years'  service  on  the  farm. 

How  I  did  long  for  books  after  I  had  left  the 
district  school !  And  with  nothing  but  my  text 
books,  the  Bible,  and  my  father's  theological  works 


54        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

to  satisfy  the  hunger.     I  have  shunned  the  sight  of 
those,  even,  let  alone  the  sight  of  living  things. 


I  've  been  alone  nearly  all  day.  Aunt  Lize  has 
been  busy  making  sausage-meat  in  the  back  shed. 
The  fire  has  died  down  to  embers;  it's  getting  cold 
in  the  room,  and  outside  snow  is  beginning  to  fall. 
I  can  see  to  knit  no  longer  in  the  twilight. 

Good  Lord,  what  a  coward  I  am !  Need  a  man  be 
a  fool  because  he  is  a  cripple?  Did  the  log,  falling 
on  me,  benumb  faculties,  paralyze  common-sense, 
knock  the  manhood  out  of  me  for  good  and  all? —  I 
wish  I  had  my  legs  again,  with  double  joints  into  the 
bargain,  just  to  be  able  to  kick  myself  into  trim.  I  '11 
see  every  Canuck  that  logs  it  on  the  Mountain,  and 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  that  finds  his  way  up 
here.  I  '11  go  to  work  on  my  Latin  and  French 
again,  I  '11  — 

That  first  groan  must  have  been  a  mighty  one,  — 
anyway,  it  carried  with  it  the  burden  of  twenty-one 
months,  —  for  Aunt  Lize  came  running  in,  and  a 
breath  of  onion,  sage,  and  summer-savory  came  along 
with  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  Hughie?  Ye 're  freezin' 
here."  She  began  to  throw  on  wood. 

"  I  Ve  had  a  turn,  Aunt  Lize." 

"  Oh,  Hughie  !  "  There  was  distress  in  her  voice. 
Then  the  flame  leaped,  lighting  the  whole  room,  and 
my  face  as  well. 

"  Come  here,  Aunt  Lize."  She  came  to  the  side  of 
the  cot. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  me  by  the  scruff  of  my  neck 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          55 

arid  give  me  one  good  shaking  —  the  kind  you  gave 
me  when  I  let  the  woodchuck  out  of  the  trap  and  he 
ate  up  all  your  peas  and  beans;  you  remember?" 

"  I  sha'n't  fergit  it  soon."  She  laughed.  "  'N'  I 
made  sure  fer  onct  thet  ye  'd  keep  it  well  in  mind  fer 
the  rest  er  yer  life.  I  know  I  got  scairt  myself,  when 
I  heerd  yer  teeth  knockin'  tergether  in  yer  head  — 
My !  warn't  I  mad  !  —  but  ye  wuz  tryin',  Hughie, 
ther'  ain't  no  denyin'  thet;  allus  er  suthin' :  —  baitin', 
er  trappin',  er  shootin',  er  fishin',  er  whittlin'  yer 
fingers  most  ter  chips  makin'  whistles  'n'  bow  'n' 
arrers,  besides  robbin'  every  good  cock's  tail  I  hed 
fer  feathers  ter  wing  'em ;  —  'n'  every  time  I  heerd  er 
squawk  round  the  house,  I  knew  suthin'  wuz  up. 

"  D'  ye  remember  the  coon  ye  treed,  thet  ye 
couldn't  git  down?  'n'  how  ye  vowed  ye 'd  watch 
him  out  till  mornin'  ?  'n'  set  with  yer  back  ter  the  big 
beech  up  thar  in  the  Old  Paster,  watchin',  watchin', 
with  yer  lantern  beside  of  ye?  'n'  me  'n'  Uncle  Shim 
went  up  thar  'long  'bout  three  o'clock,  'fore  't  wuz 
light,  'n'  found  ye  sound  asleep,  'n'  the  coon  gone  out 
the  back  way?" 

"  And  do  you  remember  the  screech-owls,  Aunt 
Lize,  I  hid  up  in  the  back  garret?" — Aunt  Lize 
began  to  laugh  again  —  "  and  how  when  you  had  the 
Methodist  circuit  minister  to  supper,  one  night  before 
Thanksgiving,  just  as  he  was  saying  grace—  "  Aunt 
Lize  was  laughing  so  immoderately  at  the  remem 
brance  that  I  joined  her. 

"  Oh,  Hughie !  "  she  cried  when  she  got  her 
breath,  "what  er  blood-curdlin'  screech  thet  wuz! 
Thet's  the  only  time  I  ever  see  Shim  Lewis's  tan 


56         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

look  yaller,  V  the  minister,  he  shook  like  er  popple, 
'n'  riz  right  up,  V  said  he  'd  better  be  gittin'  erlong, 
he  did  n 't  want  no  supper.  He  told  artervvards  in 
Scawsville,  thet  the  Evil  One  himself  could  n't  stan' 
sech  er  racket;  'n'  ye  sot  thar  er-squeezin'  yer  two 
han's  'twixt  yer  little  legs,  'n'  wrigglin',  'n'  chucklin' 
ter  yerself ! 

"  I  never  see  yer  Uncle  mad  with  ye  but  jest  thet 
onct.  He  made  ye  dance  some  'fore  ye  went  ter  bed  ; 
'n'  I  went  up  arter  ye  wuz  in,  —  fer  I  had  n't  hecrd  er 
sound  er  nothin'  but  the  cut  er  the  ox-thong  round 
yer  legs,  'n'  every  stroke  cut  me  —  'n'  rubbed  on 
steeped  salt  'n'  wormwood ;  'n'  then  ye  cried  yerself 
nearly  inter  er  fit.  I  hain't  never  see  yer  cry  sence 
t'll  — t'll  — " 

"Till  six  weeks  ago?  I  know,  Aunt  Lize ;  it  did 
me  good  too.  There  's  been  a  good  deal  of  salt  and 
wormwood  rubbed  in  this  last  year  and  a  half." 

"  'N'  it 's  jest  the  same  with  me  now  ez  't  wuz  when 
ye  warn't  but  seven  year  old  —  every  stroke  ye  Ve 
hed  hez  cut  me  too,  Hughie." 

She  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  cot,  and  I  found 
her  knotty,  toil-hardened  hand. 

November  igth. 

A  note  and  two  books  of  travels  christened  the  oak 
box. 

WASHINGTON  SQUARE, 

NEW  YORK,  November  151)1. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

I  am  glad  if  you  can  make  any  use  of  the  tools. 
My  hand  has  no  cunning  in  that  direction,  although 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          57 

for  several  years  I  have  been  greatly  interested  in  the 
wood-carvings  of  various  countries  and  races;  in  fact, 
have  been  making  a  collection,  which  I  hope  to  en 
rich  some  day  by  an  Olympian  contribution.  I  send 
by  this  mail  two  books  on  Ceylon ;  I  was  there  last 
year.  The  illustrations  are  excellent ;  please  note  the 
details  of  the  temple  carvings  —  you  '11  find  some  of 
the  flora  in  them.  Pray  keep  the  books ;  I  have  a 
duplicate  set.  I  like  to  think,  of  you  as  travelling  in 
imagination. 

Faithfully  yours, 

PHILIP  VANEVER. 

How  that  thought  quickens  —  "  travelling  in  imagi 
nation  "  -  for  me  who  have  never  been  beyond  the 
state  boundary  stones ! 

My  trouble  is  to  find  woods  well-seasoned,  well- 
cured.  There  are  two  planks  of  basswood  under  the 
eaves  in  the  garret,  —  they  have  been  there  as  long 
as  I  can  remember:  a  sufficient  seasoning,  I  take  it, 
for  any  want  of  mine,  —  and  one  or  two  slabs  of 
cherry  which  Aunt  Lize  says  her  mother  kept  on 
hand  in  case  the  spindles,  or  spokes,  of  her  wheels 
and  reels  should  give  out.  I  can  use  those  after 
Uncle  Shim  has  taken  them  down  to  the  saw-mill 
and  got  them  into  shape  for  me. 

A  sure  hand ;  an  eye,  not  only  true  to  a  line  of  a 
hair's  breadth,  but  open  to  the  value  of  cutting-depths 
for  light  and  shade  to  the  hundredth  part  of  an  inch; 
a  right  feeling  for  form  —  and  a  something  besides- 
In  that  last  lies  the  art  of  it  I  wonder  if  I  have  it 


58         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

This  work  is  beginning  to  absorb  me,  as  well  as 
my  time ;  I  Ve  even  neglected  the  stockings.  I  've 
botched  everything  I  Ve  tried  from  the  designs  in  the 
book,  and  am  thrown  back  upon  myself,  which  means 
that  I  must  touch,  feel,  see,  trace  the  actual  model. 
I  'm  put  to  it  for  those  now,  for  there  's  a  foot  of  snow. 

November  2gth. 

Aunt  Lize  burst  into  the  room  to-day  in  a  state  of 
mind  bordering  on  frenzy,  and  Twiddie  was  behind 
her,  clasping  a  half-day-old  suckling  in  her  arms. 

"  I  never  see  the  beat  er  thet  old  sow,  Hughie ;  — 
here  's  yer  Uncle  ben  gone  ter  the  saw-mill  most  all 
day,  'n'  thet 's  jest  the  time  she  takes  ter  litter  — 
fifteen  !  'n'  November,  'n'  cold  'nough  ter  freeze  their 
tails  off.  Look  er  thar !  "  Twiddie  held  up  a  pink 
and  white  pigling  for  my  inspection. 

"  Well,  Aunt  Lize,  you  finished  your  sausage-meat 
yesterday,  and  Nature  must  level  up  somehow,  you 
know."  I  could  n't  help  laughing  to  see  Aunt  Lize's 
discomfiture  and  Twiddie's  efforts  to  warm  the  toes 
of  the  specimen  one-fifteenth  of  the  old  sow's  progeny 
at  the  fire.  Such  wrigglings,  and  squirmings,  and 
slippings  !  Such  infant  squeals  and  abortive  grunts  ! 
—  the  little  pink  tail  double  twisted  like  one  of  Aunt 
Lize's  raised  doughnuts !  But  Aunt  Lize  could 
brook  no  jest. 

"  Jest  let  it  come  so  bitter  freezin'  thet  every  pail  er 
hog's  wash  skims  'fore  ye  can  git  it  out  ter  the  pen, 
'n1  ther  's  jest  'nough  straw  fer  the  hosses'  beddin'  fer 
the  winter,  —  'n'  thet  critter,  all  of  er  suddin,  presents 
her  imperance  with  fifteen  ter  the  trough  !  But  ye  let 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          59 

it  come  mild,  thawin'  weather  'long  'bout  April,  when 
she  can  git  out  inter  the  back  run,  'n'  she  waddles 
round  with  only  one,  or  two.  I  allus  knew  hogs  wuz 
cantankerous  —  but  sow s  !  It 's  jest  downright,  tee 
total  depravity." 

She  bounced  out  of  the  room,  —  Twiddie,  with  her 
pigling,  following  at  her  heels.  Poor  Aunt  Lize  !  If 
only  I  could  help  ! 

How  many  times  I  have  come  home  from  school  in 
the  early  spring  afternoons,  to  find  the  old  sow  and 
thirty  or  more  shotes  rooting  about  in  the  ploughed 
piece  of  land  behind  the  house.  And  at  my  wild 
war-whoop  and  sudden  rush  up  the  Pent  Road,  what 
a  lifting  of  snouts,  a  turning-to  of  tails,  what  a  mad 
scamper  for  the  pen  —  and  such  crowding,  jostling, 
over-riding,  squealings,  snortings,  and  gruntings ! 
Routed! — and  I  triumphant. 

"  Twiddie,"  I  said,  as  she  sat  on  the  rug  before  the 
fire  this  evening,  and  I  was  knitting  for  dear  life,  try 
ing  to  finish  my  stint  —  a  pair  in  five  days  —  "  Twid 
die,  you  never  showed  me  that  letter  in  the  yellow 
envelope  you  brought  home  that  day,  do  you  re 
member?"  She  nodded. 

"  'T  warn't  er  letter — not  er  truly  one."  I  knew 
she  was  holding  some  conversation  with  her  "  folks  " 
by  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

"What  was  it?  —  one,  two,  three,  heel,"-  — I  pre 
tended  not  to  be  over-curious. 

"  'T  wuz  ter  Aunt  Lize,  'n'  Uncle  Shim  put  it  inside 
the  clock." 


60        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"Did  you  see  it?" 

"  No,  Aunt  Lize  said  't  warn't  nothin'  but  er  bill." 

"  Oh,  well,  then  she  won't  mind  my  seeing  it.  Go, 
get  it  for  me,  will  you?  " 

"  I  'm  'fraid  she  '11  see  me,  Hughie." 

"What  if  she  does?  I'm  not  asking  you  to  do 
anything  mean  by  Aunt  Lize.  Now,  hurry  up  —  I 
hear  her  out  in  the  shed  with  Uncle  Shim." 

Twiddie  came  back  with  the  yellow  envelope;  it 
was  the  bill  for  my  cot  —  fifty-two  dollars  !  White 
sugar,  old-fashioned  bureau,  Uncle  Shim's  tobacco, 
the  newspaper  and  coffee ;  half  the  taxes,  and  some 
thing  of  the  interest  on  the  mortgage  !  I  saw  it  all. 
I  suppose  I  must  have  groaned,  for  Tag,  lying  before 
the  fire,  rose  with  a  whine,  and  Twiddie  tried  to  draw 
my  hands  down  from  my  face. 

"Don't,  Hughie,  oh,  don't!"  Her  lips  quivered, 
and  to  avoid  a  scene  I  sent  her  out  to  put  away  the 
yellow  envelope  in  the  clock  before  Aunt  Lize  should 
come  in. 

December  I2th. 

To-day  I  finished  the  carving  of  a  branch  of  larch 
with  its  little  cones.  It 's  my  fifth  attempt  to  make 
something  only  half  satisfactory  to  myself.  I  shall 
send  it  to  Philip  Vanever  for  criticism. 

There  is  a  great  racket  going  on  overhead  in  the 
garret.  I  know  by  the  sound  it's  Aunt  Lize  getting 
down  her  spinning-wheel  and  the  reel.  She  told  me 
yesterday  she  had  n't  but  two  more  hanks  of  yarn 
left.  I  Ve  finished  eight  pair  of  stockings. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          61 

December  ijth. 

There  was  a  light  fall  of  snow  last  night,  turning 
into  sleet  later  on;  and  this  morning,  from  my  east 
window,  I  saw  the  sun  rise  over  the  mountain  tops ; 
its  level  beams  caught  in  the  ice  on  tree  and  fence,  on 
rock  and  crust,  and  were  broken  into  all  colors  of  the 
rainbow. 

3  P.  M. 

It  is  growing  intensely  cold,  already  fifteen  below. 
The  back-log  glows  clear  red  from  end  to  end.  This 
noon  I  heard  the  ring  of  an  axe  in  the  woods  for 
the  first  time  this  season ;  —  the  sound  sickened  me. 
Uncle  Shim  has  begun  early;  I  know  he  hasn't 
the  ready  cash  to  pay  for  help,  —  never  had ;  but  he 
had  me. 

How  often  I  have  cut  and  trimmed  my  six  trees  a 
day.  Oh  !  the  swing  of  the  arms,  the  deep  "  hah  — 
hah  "  —  that  sound  forced  from  the  inflated  lungs  by 
the  downward  stroke  !  —  Oh  !  to  feel  the  thrill  of  the 
springing  resistance  of  the  live  wood  through  the  axe- 
helve  !  To  see  the  slow  ooze  of  the  sap  in  the 
clean-angled  gash,  to  smell  the  fresh  breath  of  the 
leaping  chips  !  To  feel  the  coursing  of  the  blood  to 
the  roots  of  the  hair,  and  the  warm  moisture  on  the 
nape  of  the  neck  !  Never  again  — 

I  went  straight  to  work  on  my  new  carving  —  blades 
and  ears  of  the  corn  ;  but  the  lust  of  the  woodman  was 
strong  within  me,  and  I  hewed  where  I  should  have 
cut,  and  gashed  when  I  tried  to  carve.  Work  ruined 
for  to-day. 


62         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

December  zoth. 

Twiddle's  patience  has  nearly  given  out.  She  has 
been  down  the  two  miles  to  the  butternut  tree  every 
other  forenoon  to  see  if  Uncle  Jo  has  left  anything 
for  her  in  the  box.  As  yet,  there  has  been  nothing, 
and  I  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes  when  she  handed 
me  a  letter  to-day  —  such  a  letter  !  Enough  to  warm 
the  cockles  of  a  man's  heart  if  they  had  frozen  solid. 
Here  it  shall  lie. 

NEW  YORK,  Dec.  i7th. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

I  have  always  envied  the  man  who  can  work  in 
wood,  clay,  or  stone,  and  so  materialize  his  ideas. 
When  I  took  that  panel  of  yours  out  of  the  box,  I 
wanted  to  put  myself  aboard  the  first  north-bound 
train  and  congratulate  you  in  person. 

You  ask  for  criticism  —  I  have  n't  any,  for  it 's 
the  larch  itself,  engrafted  on  that  cherry  panel !  I 
went  straight  over  to  the  Art  Society  and  entered  the 
piece  in  my  name,  subject  to  withdrawal.  Of  course, 
I  knew  it  would  be  accepted,  —  they  don't  get  such 
often,  —  and  when  I  received  the  notification  of  ac 
ceptance,  I  went  round  to  see  the  secretary,  with 
whom  I  left  it,  and  withdrew  it,  after  promising  to 
return  it  for  orders.  Then  I  went  up  town  to  see  a 
friend  of  mine  who  is  remodelling  the  upper  story  of 
his  house,  and  who  spoke  to  me  the  other  day  about 
a  design  in  wood  for  the  mantel  in  his  den.  By  a 
stroke  of  luck  I  was  just  in  time ;  he  was  about  to 
send  to  the  Cincinnati  School. 

Now,  can  you  do  it?  Or,  rather,  will  you?  He 
wants  the  panels  and  lintel  in  the  same  design  — 
larch;  but  he  leaves  you  free  hand  in  its  application. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          63 

The  wood  is  cherry.  He  will  ship  the  three  pieces, 
if  you  write  me  you  will  do  the  work.  Let  me 
know,  if  possible,  by  return  mail,  via,  of  course,  the 
Hornet.  Thanks  for  your  thought  of  me. 

Yours  in  haste, 

PHILIP  VANEVER. 

Will  I?  Will  I?  —  I  am  unnerved,  unmanned  by 
all  this. 

Twiddie  went  down  this  forenoon  with  my  answer 
in  time  for  the  stage  at  twelve.  She  took  the  small 
wood-sled,  for  the  crust  holds,  and  there  is  a  fine 
coast  for  good  two  thirds  of  the  way  down  the  Pent 
Road  ;  the  bars  are  down  for  the  winter,  fortunately  for 
her,  for  she  tells  me  she  always  slides  "  bellybump." 

Uncle  Shim  is  over  in  the  hemlock-bush,  cutting 
logs  for  peeling.  I  can  hear  the  ring  of  his  axe, 
and  the  slow  crash  of  the  falling  trees.  I  always  used 
to  look  forward  to  that,  and  when  the  noble  crown 
bowed  lower  and  lower,  the  limbs  strained  with  a 
groan,  the  mighty  trunk  with  the  last  splintering 
crash  lay  prostrate  —  how  the  blood  in  me  leaped  at 
the  sight  and  the  sound !  I  felt  like  a  conqueror. 

I  had  Aunt  Lize  pop  some  corn,  and  place  two 
Northern  Spies,  with  a  tin  cup  of  sweet  cider,  on  the 
hot  bricks  of  the  hearth  against  Twiddle's  return. 
The  air  is  white  with  frost  —  it  must  be  fifteen  below; 
but  still,  so  still,  that  I  heard  a  squirrel  bark  in  the 
woods  just  now. 

Twiddie  came  back  with  a  telegram  —  my  first; 
and  my  heart  was  like  lead  in  my  stomach  when  I 
read: 


64         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

"  Hold  your  hand  with  the  design  till  you  hear 
from  me  again.  I  have  headed  off  the  Hornet  at  the 
other  end,  Rutland.  P.  V." 

December  22nd. 

Uncle  Shim  hitched  up  into  the  pung  after  four, 
and  went  down  to  the  butternut  tree;  Twiddie  was 
with  him.  She  had  a  hot  soapstone  for  her  feet,  and 
a  hot  roast  potato  in  each  hand.  It 's  twenty  below. 
I  Ve  been  knitting  furiously,  and  counting  out  loud 
like  a  madman,  to  keep  from  thinking  —  what  if  it 
should  fall  through,  just  at  the  moment  I  feel  my 
head  above  water? 

But  it  did  n't !  I  had  a  note,  and  Twiddie  had  a 
letter,  —  at  last.  The  note  was  a  hurried  one,  to  tell 
me  to  work  into  the  design  of  the  lintel  the  Latin 
verse,  "  Deus  haec  otia  fecit" 

"  God  hath  made  this  a  rest."  So  this  is  to  be  my 
first  object-lesson  with  a  block  of  wood  ! 

Sometime  I  will  carve  out  the  face  of  my  Fate ;  — 
it  shall  be  beautiful,  calm  and  noble,  restful ;  the  eye 
lids  level ;  the  parted  lips  curved  in  a  smile  —  but 
between  them  I  '11  carve  the  protruding  head  of  a 
poison  adder,  fang  prominent,  and  the  coils  of  its 
body  just  hinted  at. 

Twiddie  has  said  nothing  of  her  letter  so  long 
looked  for,  but  she  goes  about  as  full  of  the  sup 
pressed  ferment  of  excitement  as  Aunt  Lize's  jug  of 
new  yeast,  which  I  hear  just  now  blowing  its  stopple 
out  in  the  kitchen,  and  raising  its  own  row,  I  should 
say,  by  the  noise.  Aunt  Lize  and  Twiddie  are  out  in 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          65 

the  hemlock-bush  somewhere.  They  keep  out  of 
sight.  Now,  what  are  they  up  to?  I  '11  get  even  with 
them. 

I  opened  the  window  a  crack  and  called : 

"Aunt  Lize!  " 

I  heard  her  then :  "  Run  in,  Twiddie,  and  see  what 
Hughie  wants." 

"  I  want  you,  Aunt  Lize,"  I  hollered ;  "  the  yeast 's 
running  over." 

"  Oh,  Luddy  !  " 

I  propped  the  window  with  the  crook  of  my  staff, 
and  leaned  close  to  breathe  the  keen  air:  so  keen, 
that  my  nostrils  stuck  together.  I  saw  Aunt  Lize 
and  Twiddie  dragging  between  them  a  small  balsam- 
fir  across  the  Pent  Road  and  around  the  house  to  the 
shed.  Then  I  heard  Aunt  Lize  mopping  up  the 
kitchen  floor. 

"  I  never  see  the  beat  er  new  pertater  yeast !  " 
she  said,  when,  an  hour  afterwards,  she  came  in  with 
my  dinner.  "It's  jest  like  some  folks  I  know  — 
allus  er-workin',  er-workin'  in  their  in'ards ;  never 
at  peace  with  themselves,  'n'  what 's  wuss,  won't  never 
let  other  folks  be  in  peace." 

I  knew  it  was  only  a  blind. 

"  What  were  you  doing  out  in  the  hemlock-bush, 
Aunt  Lize?" 

"  Me?"  she  said  innocently. 

"  Yes,  you." 

"  Oh,  I  wuz  jest  helpin'  Twiddie  git  some  moss  'n' 
ground-pine.  Ther'  ain't  much  snow  in  the  bush, 
'n'  I  fergot  ter  git  the  moss  ter  stuff  in  the  winder 


66        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

cracks  'fore  this  cold  snap,  'n'  't  is  time  't  wuz  in."  I 
caught  her  hand.  — • 

"  Aunt  Lize,  the  truth  —  " 

"  Le'  me  go,  Hughie;  I  hear  Shim  callin'  —  My! 
but  ye 're  gittin'  powerful  strong  in  yer  arms."  I  let 
her  go,  but  I  scent  a  mystery. 

I  Ve  been  drawing  the  larch  design  for  the  lintel 
and  experimenting  with  the  letters.  I  wish  I  had 
some  good  paper  for  it ;  but  I  hate  to  ask  Aunt  Lize 
for  even  fifty  cents,  knowing  what  I  do. 

A  curious  fancy  occupied  my  thoughts  all  the 
forenoon.  I  should  like  to  carve  that  Fate's  head 
from  a  piece  of  the  log  that  laid  me  here ;  I  '11  ask 
Uncle  Shim  about  it.  —  Three  months  ago  I  wanted 
to  hack  and  hew  it  into  splinters ;  now,  I  'd  like  to 
put  it  to  a  slow  torture  with  these  sharp  tools. 

December  24th. 

Uncle  Shim  and  Twiddle  have  gone  down  in  the 
pung  to  meet  the  stage  —  I  know  by  the  time  they 
take. 

The  door  into  the  kitchen  is  shut ;  but  I  can  hear 
Aunt  Lize  stirring  about,  and  smell  the  hot  maple 
syrup  she  is  boiling  down  to  candy;  she  used  always 
to  make  it  for  me  at  Christmas,  and  I  cracked  the 
butternuts,  —  the  blackish-brown  stain  on  my  hands 
for  a  month  afterwards.  How  good  it  was !  I  wish 
she  'd  open  the  door. 

The  room  is  red  with  firelight.  Outside  there  is  a 
still  cold ;  the  window-panes  are  frosted  thick  with 
silver  brake  and  fern  and  raying  pine  leaves  that 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          67 

catch    the    reflection     of    the    flames    on    all   their 
spiculae. 

There's  Tag  barking  in  the  clearing;  I  hear 
the  "  tinkle-tankle "  of  the  old  cracked  cow-bell  I 
strapped  on  Prince's  head-stall  seven  years  ago; 
Twiddle  is  calling  — 

There  was  a  letter,  a  box  for  me,  and  one  for 
Twiddie.  I  opened  the  letter,  —  I  couldn't  wait; 
but  the  boxes  are  to  be  brought  into  my  room  and 
opened  after  supper.  I  have  read  the  letter  while 
the  others  are  in  the  kitchen. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

All-the-year-round  greetings  to  you  on  your 
Mountain.  I  wish  I  might  see  that  heavy  timber- 
belt  by  moonlight,  in  frost  and  snow !  Tell  me, 
sometime,  how  it  impresses  you  in  all  its  moods 
and  tenses ;  I  find  forests  have  such. 

The  panels  were  shipped  to-day  by  express.  My 
friend  finds  that  the  price  of  the  carving  of  each 
panel  at  any  designer's,  or  Art  School,  would  be 
twenty-five  dollars  each.  Do  you  agree  to  this  basis 
of  adjustment?  —  for  the  business? 

I  have  sent  Twiddie  a  Christmas  box,  the  con 
tents  of  which  are  based  on  Hans  Andersen's  Fairy 
Tales  —  a  book  I  lived  on  when  I  was  younger  than 
she.  I  should  like  to  see  her  small  face  when  she 
grasps  my  conception  of  the  box.  Do  you  help 
her  to  it  and  play  boy  again.  In  a  recent  letter  she 
promised  me  some  "maple-sugar-butternut"  candy, 
and  some  spruce  gum  which  she  has  gathered  herself. 
Don't  let  her  forget  to  send  me  both.  There  has 


68         The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

always  been  a  good  home  market  for  the  consump 
tion  of  those  special  articles  with  me. 

The  other  box  is  for  you,  with  the  season's  greet 
ings.  I  thought  you  might  be  interested  in  Michael 
Angelo  and  John  of  Bologna,  —  for  their  trade  is 
likely  to  be  yours,  —  in  Peter  Vischer,  and  Hilde- 
sheim  Bernward.  I  made  their  acquaintance  several 
years  ago,  and  you  are  eight  years  younger  than  I. 

Good-night; — the  traffic  on  the  Avenue  just  out 
side  the  club  windows  is  deafening — jobbers,  express 
men,  hacks,  carriages,  newsboys,  messenger-boys, 
florists'  wagons,  Christmas-trees  by  the  hundred 
apparently  walking  up  town  on  stilts,  children,  men, 
women — confusion  worse  confounded;  but  it's  two 
days  before  Christmas,  which  explains  it  all.  Kind 
regards  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lewis. 

Yours  sincerely, 

PHILIP  VANEVER. 

P.  S.  I'll  put  you  into  direct  communication  with 
my  friend  within  a  few  days.  That 's  a  good  idea 
of  yours  to  send  the  charcoal  designs  for  approval. 
I  'm  glad  you  enjoyed  that  trip  to  Ceylon ;  that 
lotus-flower  was  a  thing  to  remember,  was  n't  it,  as 
well  as  the  trip  half-way  round  the  world?  P.  V. 

Twenty-five  dollars  each  !  Seventy-five  dollars  for 
the  three  —  Seventy-five  dollars!  The  white  sugar, 
and  Uncle  Shim's  cut-plug,  the  coffee  and  weekly 
paper,  the  interest  on  the  mortgage,  and  the  taxes 
—  And  who  is  Hans  Andersen  ?  Who  is  Michael 
Angelo?  Who  is  Bernward,  and  that  John  of  Bo 
logna?  What  am  I  —  what  do  I  know,  that  all  these 
should  come  to  me?  — 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          69 

I  was  glad  when  Uncle  Shim  came  in  with  the 
boxes,  for  I  was  growing  dizzy  with  the  crowding 
thoughts. 

Twiddie    is  quiet  through  sheer  exhaustion  from 

excitement.     I  never  noticed  the  child's  eyes  before 

—  blue-black   to-night,  for  the  pupil  is  so  enlarged. 

They  seem  to  take  up  the  whole  face.     She  has  given 

me  her  letter  to  read. 

MY  DEAR  TWIDDIE, 

Merry  Christmas !  and  may  Hans  Andersen  bring 
you  the  good  luck  that  comes  to  every  boy  and 
girl  who  loves  him.  You'll  find  your  box  in  layers; 
a  layer  for  each  story.  The  first  story  you  Ve  helped 
to  make  yourself,  for  I  know  you  have  the  little  balsam- 
fir  I  told  you  about,  set  up  in  the  room  for  Christ 
mas  eve.  Every  week  I  want  you  to  read  Cousin 
Hugh  a  story,  and  then  take  out  a  layer  of  the  box, 
and  enjoy  it.  The  box  ought  to  last  two  months. 
You  '11  find  it  is  the  story  made  real. 

I  'm  waiting  for  the  "  maple-sugar-butternut  "  candy 
and  the  spruce  gum  —  meanwhile,  my  mouth  waters 
when  I  think  of  them. 

Your  friend, 

PHILIP  VANEVER. 

I  was  as  much  interested  as  Twiddie,  and,  after  the 
boxes  were  opened  and  my  books  had  been  taken 
out,  they  brought  in  and  set  up  the  little  balsam-fir 
in  a  socket  Uncle  Shim  had  made  for  it.  Then 
Twiddie,  sitting  on  the  rug,  read  the  story  of  "  The 
Fir  Tree." 

How  my  vision  went  roaming  into  the  timber-belt 


70        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

with  the  opening  words :  —  "  Out  in  the  forest  stood 
a  pretty  little  fir  tree.  It  had  a  good  place  ;  it  could 
have  sunlight,  and  there  was  air  in  plenty,  and  all 
around  grew  many  larger  comrades,  pines  as  well  as 
firs''  The  resin  of  the  little  balsam  was  keen  in  my 
nostrils,  and,  suddenly,  the  sick  longing  for  my  boy 
hood  came  upon  me. 

But  when  she  had  finished  with  the  words  :  —  "  And 
the  story  is  past  too,  — past,  past  —  and  that 's  the 
way  with  all  stories"  I  pulled  myself  together  and 
entered  into  the  mute,  trembling  joy  of  the  child  in 
that  first  layer.  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  shared 
it  too.  It  was  as  wonderful  to  them  as  to  the  child ; 
for  there  lay  the  gilded  apples  and  walnuts,  the  nets 
of  colored  paper  filled  with  sweetmeats,  the  dozen 
little  candles,  red,  white,  and  blue,  a  doll  —  Twiddie 
caught  her  breath  at  the  sight,  she  has  had  only  her 
rag  one  with  brown  yarn  for  hair — and  a  tinsel  star 
for  the  top  of  the  tree.  Then  she  and  Aunt  Lize 
dressed  the  little  fir  in  all  its  Christmas  bravery,  ac 
cording  to  the  fairy  tale,  and  Aunt  Lize  threw  over  it 
some  strings  of  popcorn.  The  candles  were  affixed 
to  the  branches  and  lighted ;  Uncle  Shim  tiptoed 
about,  and  a  curious  hush  fell  upon  us  all. 

Christmas  Day. 

I  waited  till  this  evening  to  tell  them  of  my  good 
luck.  Aunt  Lize  broke  right  down,  and  Uncle  Shim 
went  out  of  the  room  softly,  in  his  stocking-feet.  I 
believe  I  broke  down  too,  for  I  felt  Twiddie's  arms 
about  my  neck  and  heard  her  say: 

"Don't,  Hughie,  don't;  —  I   did  tell   true,  didn't 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          71 

I  ?  "     And  in  comforting  the  child,  I  became  again 
master  of  myself. 

January  loth. 

The  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel  and  the  whir  of  the 
reel  throughout  the  short  winter  afternoons  and  long 
evenings  make  me  sleepy.  Aunt  Lize  has  been  busy 
with  the  wool  all  the  afternoon,  treadle  and  spindle 
seemingly  in  perpetual  motion. 

It  is  among  my  first  recollections  —  that  sound, 
and  the  sight  of  Aunt  Lize,  foot,  hand,  arm,  back  in 
rhythmic  movement,  only  interrupted  by  the  parting 
of  a  strand  or  the  joining  of  the  same,  her  thumb  and 
forefinger  —  first  wet  quickly  at  her  lips  —  twirling 
and  twisting  the  end  of  the  roll  of  carded  fleece. 
And  the  fleece  itself!  A  soft,  yellowish  white  pile  in 
the  willow  basket  beside  the  reel ;  —  I  see  it  all,  even 
to  the  carders  hanging  from  a  beam  over  the  garret 
stairs ;  and  the  old  garret  itself  with  its  loom  and 
stool,  its  cheese-press,  its  strings  of  red  peppers  and 
onions  and  dried  apples,  its  popcorn  in  an  old, 
hooded,  wooden  cradle  that  was  built  with  the  house, 
and  has  rocked  me  and  past  generations. 

Oh,  the  work,  the  work  !  the  blessedness  of  it !  I 
have  said  as  much  in  a  recent  letter  to  Philip  Vanever. 
It  prospers. 

The  cold  is  strengthening  with  the  lengthening 
days.  Everything  is  ice-bound.  Not  a  sound  out 
side  except  the  butting  of  the  cattle  in  their  stalls, 
the  thin  blat  of  a  sheep  beneath  the  barn,  and,  at 
daybreak,  the  crowing  of  the  cocks. 


J2        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Twice  I  have  heard  the  boom  of  a  bursting  tree- 
trunk  and  the  crack  of  ice  in  a  water-filled  hol 
low.  Not  an  egg  for  ten  days  past,  —  and  on 
the  latch  of  my  door,  that  opens  out  towards  the 
orchard,  the  frost  is  white  and  thick  like  new-fallen 
snow. 

The  windows  are  made  snug  with  the  dried  moss  in 
the  cracks,  but  I  roast  to  the  fire,  and  freeze  at  my 
back.  It's  better  though  than  the  air-tight;  I  should 
stifle  with  that,  and  there  is  no  need  to  spare  the 
wood.  There  "11  be  a  let-up  soon. 

Oh,  but  the  work  is  a  joy !  and  how  the  time 
goes !  — January  fifteenth,  and  the  left  panel  finished. 
I  had  a  fancy  to  cut  the  whole  life  of  the  tamarack 
into  the  wood :  the  slender  spring  branches  with  the 
globular  buds  and  the  catkins ;  the  full  flush  of  sum 
mer  in  its  leaf;  the  autumn  nudity  with  its  delicate 
clustered  cones. 

Uncle  Shim,  with  my  help,  has  contrived  a  solid 
work-table  of  beech  —  five  feet  by  three.  It  is  four 
inches  higher  than  the  cot,  and  can  be  shoved  up 
over  it,  and  pushed  back  again  over  the  foot  when  I 
have  finished. 

I  have  begged  Aunt  Lize  to  take  up  the  rag-carpet 
that  I  may  make  all  the  litter  I  choose.  She  objected 
at  first,  on  account  of  the  cold  floor;  but  I  told  her 
that,  as  I  never  set  foot  to  it,  she  need  n't  stand  for 
that.  All  she  said  was,  "  Oh,  Hughie  !  "  But  she 
took  it  up  last  week,  leaving  one  of  the  rugs  for 
her  wooden  rocker,  and  another  for  Twiddle  before 
the  fire. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          73 

Uncle  Shim  comes  in  regularly  to  hear  the  stories. 
I  don't  know  which  I'm  the  more  in  love  with  — 
Hans  Andersen  or  Michael  Angelo;  it's  a  toss-up. 
All  the  week  through  Twiddie  plays  her  story,  and 
lives  one  third  in  this  world  and  two  thirds  in 
another. 

Our  January  thaw.  Whenever  I  wake  in  the  night, 
I  hear  the  drip,  drip  of  the  melting  ice  from  the 
eaves.  This  morning  I  heard  a  little  run  start  over 
in  the  sledge  track  on  the  Pent  Road.  Twiddie  is 
out  in  the  slush  now,  building  a  snow-dam  across  it. 

January  2ist. 

Aunt  Lize  has  opened  my  east  door  and  let  the 
whole  world  of  the  mountains  into  my  room.  The 
sun  is  as  warm  as  in  April,  and  the  air  filled  with 
the  running,  dripping,  splashing,  gurgling,  slipping, 
sliding  sounds  of  melting  ice  and  snow. 

The  chickadees  are  fairly  singing  somersaults  over 
one  another;  there  is  a  bare  patch  in  the  Pent  Road. 

The  wind  changed  suddenly  in  the  night,  and  this 
morning  the  sky  is  like  lead.  The  chill  is  in  the 
house,  and  Aunt  Lize  looks  blue  and  pinched,  even 
about  her  work.  There  is  snow  in  the  air,  and  the 
cold  pierces  to  the  very  marrow;  my  fingers  are  too 
numb  for  work. 

We  are  cut  off  from  the  world.  It  has  been  snow 
ing  for  two  days  and  two  nights  —  a  steady  fall, 
straight  as  a  plummet ;  but  to-night  the  wind  has 
risen  and  a  gale  is  raking  the  Mountain. 


74        The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

What  a  sound  that  is!  — the  scream  of  the  winter 
blast  through  the  pines  as  if  the  needles  were  vibrat 
ing  wires. 

January  28th. 

The  drifts  are  twelve  feet  between  the  house  and 
the  barn.  Uncle  Shim  has  been  tunnelling  through ; 
the  wind  has  gone  down  and  the  mercury  has  dropped 
twenty  degrees  since  morning. 

There 's  another  world  beyond  our  mountains ; 
I  feel  this  the  more  I  read  of  these  great  men. 
What  a  life,  that  of  Angelo's !  And  his  love  for 
that  woman  — 

I  should  like  to  see  once  a  perfectly  beautiful 
woman. 

Linnie  Lane  had  a  pretty  face ;  the  prettiest  I  have 
ever  seen:  fresh  skin  and  dimples  —  but  I  can  imag 
ine  something  other  than  that. 

I  must  ask  Aunt  Lize  about  Linnie  Lane. 

January  3Oth. 

In  the  sunlight  I  feel  expansive,  and  reach  out  to 
that  world  beyond  our  mountains ;  but  the  firelight 
shuts  me  in,  and  invites  to  confidence  with  Aunt 
Lize. 

I  heard  Uncle  Shim  snoring  on  the  settle.  Twiddie 
was  in  bed,  and  Aunt  Lize  stringing  winter  apples 
to  dry  for  another  year's  store.  I  called  to  her: 
"  Aunt  Lize  !  " 

"  What  ye  want,  Hughie  ?  " 

"  You.  —  Come  in  with  your  apples,  and  I  '11  help 
string." 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          75 

"  It  '11  make  er  muss  —  " 

"  Never  mind.     I  want  to  talk." 

She  supplied  me  with  a  darning-needle  and  a  string, 
and,  having  placed  the  wooden  chopping-tray  of 
quartered  apples  on  the  work-bench,  fed  the  fire  till 
the  room  was  light  enough  to  read  by,  then  sat 
down  by  the  cot,  and  we  fell  to. 

"  Whatd'  ye  want  ter  talk  'bout,  Hughie?  " 

"  Oh,  a  good  many  things ;  when  is  Uncle  Shim 
going  to  break  out  the  road  ?  " 

"  He  wuz  cal'latin'  ter  put  the  ox-team  on  ter- 
morrer,  but  he  '11  hev  ter  plough  out  fust,  'n'  then 
shovel  through  the  big  drifts." 

"  He  can't  do  it  inside  of  a  week." 

"  No ;  he  says  mebbe  they  '11  break  out  a  leetle 
ter  help  from  the  Farnsfield  turnpike,  but  the  heft 
on't  '11  come  on  him.  We  hain't  been  snowed  up 
like  this  sence  eighty-one,  d'ye  'member,  Hughie? 
the  time  Uncle  Shim  brought  Twiddie  home  up  the 
Mountin'?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  the  snow  had  been  setting  ir; 
thick  and  heavy  ever  since  noon,  and  you  were 
worrying  about  Uncle  Shim.  I  know  I  wanted  to  go 
down  the  Pent  Road,  Gilead  way,  to  look  for  him, 
but  you  would  n't  hear  to  it." 

"  I  never  shall  fergit  thet  storm;  it  seemed  as  ef  the 
wind  raised  the  roof  'long  'bout  six;  'n'  then  I  heerd 
Prince  whinner,  'n'  the  fust  thing  I  knowed,  Shim 
wuz  comin'  through  the  shed  with  er  big  bundle  in  his 
arms,  'n'  his  face  all  sot  'n'  blue.  He  walked  right 
up  ter  the  settle,  'n'  laid  the  bundle  down  on 't,  'n' 
then,  turnin'  ter  me,  he  says  slow  'n'  solemn  like: 


j6        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

'  Lize,  what 's  thet  the  Good  Book  says  'bout 
sheep? ' 

"  'N'  I  thought  the  frost  hed  struck  inter  his 
brain  —  I  'd  heerd  er  sech  things  —  V  I  acted  kinder 
scairt  (ye  wuzn't  in  the  room,  'coz  ye  'd  gone  out  ter 
put  up  Prince)  'n'  flew  inter  the  pantry  ter  git  some 
rum  'n'  er  red  pepper  ter  fix  up  some  hot  drink  ter 
thaw  him  out;  but  he  follered  me  in,  'n'  took  hold  er 
my  arm  'n'  led  me  back  ter  the  settle,  'n',  p'intin'  ter 
the  bundle,  says  agin:  'What's  thet  the  Good  Book 
says  'bout  lambs,  Lize?'  'n'  I  ter  pacify  him,  says, 
4  Hev  ye  got  er  lamb  thar,  Shim?' 

"  '  Yes,'  he  said,  '  but  what 's  thet  the  Good  Book 
says  'bout  lambs,  Lize?' 

41  Then  I  knowed  jest  what  he  meant,  'n'  says, 
' 44  Feed  my  lambs,"  Shim  —  is  thet  what  ye  're  artcr  ?  ' 

"  '  Thet 's  what  I  mean,  Lize,'  he  said,  'n'  his  voice 
sounded  kinder  nat'ral,  'n'  I  thought  he  wuz  thawin' 
out,  'n'  reached  up  ter  take  off  his  muffler,  but  he 
drawed  back,  'n'  p'inted  ter  the  settle,  'n'  says, '  "  Feed 
my  lambs — feed  my  lambs"  '  'n'  then  went  inter  the 
shed  'n'  kicked  off  his  boots,  while  I  went  to  work  on 
thet  bundle." 

44  And  I  found  you  at  it  when  I  came  in  with  Uncle 
Shim,  and  we  both  watched  you  ;  how  you  screamed 
when  you  saw  Twiddie  sound  asleep  inside  a  blanket 
and  the  quilt  and  the  buffalo  robe  peeled  off  of  her ! 
It  woke  her,  and  she  put  out  her  hands  and  began 
to  cry,  and  when  you  took  her  up,  she  only  cried  the 
harder  —  " 

"  'N'  then  ye  said,  '  Give  her  ter  me,  Aunt  Lize  ;  I 
can't  stand  the  young  'un's  squallin'  '  —  'n'  took  her 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          77 

In  yer  arms  'n'  snuggled  her  head  down  onter  yer 
shoulder,  'n'  walked  up  'n'  down  the  kitchen  with  her, 
'n'  in  er  minute  she  stopped,  'n'  she  hain't  shed  many 
tears  sence." 

"  Do  you  know  who  her  father  was,  Aunt  Lize?" 
"  No,  'n'  nobody  else.  Shim  hed  never  let  on  ter 
me  thet  his  sister  'd  come  back  ter  Old  Town  Gilead 
more  'n  six  months  'fore  he  brought  Twiddie  here. 
He  'd  took  his  oath  ter  her  thet  he  'd  never  tell  who 
she  wuz,  —  Shim's  folks  lived  over  'n  York  State  — 
'n'  fer  them  six  months,  she  took  in  tailorin'  fer  the 
store  down  ter  Alderbury,  'n'  lived  in  half  the  house 
on  the  old  Rowen  place  up  in  Old  Town  Gilead. 
She  called  herself  'Mis'  Smith'  —  but  Shim  knowed 
she  wuz  thar  —  'n'  when  she  found  she  warn't  goin' 
ter  live,  she  sent  fer  him  'n'  gin  him  the  child.  In 
makin'  out  the  death  certif'cate,  Shim  hed  to  own 
up  ;  thet 's  how  folks  come  ter  know  'bout  it." 

"Was  that  her  name  when  Uncle  Shim  took  her?" 
"Thet's  what  she  called  herself;  but  her  mother 
said  her  name  wuz  Theodory,  'n'  Shim  said  her  las' 
words  wuz,  '  My  gift  er  God  —  my  gift  er  God  ' ;  'n' 
Shim  thought  she  wuz  wanderin',  but  he  axed  the 
minister  down  ter  Alderbury  thet  he  brought  up 
fer  the  buryin',  —  ther'  warn't  no  reg'lar  fun'ral,  —  'n' 
he  said  it  wuz  the  child's  name  she  wuz  meanin', 
Theodory." 

"  You  never  told  me  this  before,  Aunt  Lize." 

"  Wai  —  I  hain't  said   much  'bout  it.     Yer  Uncle 

wuz  cut  ter  the  quick  with  the  disgrace,  'n'  least  said, 

soonest  mended.     But  ye  never  took  much  notice  er 

Twiddie  anyway,  Hughie;  ye  wuz  allus  er-plannin'  'n' 


78         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

studyin*  how  ye  could  git  ter  the  'Cademy,  'n'  she 
knowed  she  warn't  made  much  of." 

"That's  true,  Aunt  Lize;  but  she's  a  handy  one 
to  have  about.  She  says  she 's  going  to  keep  my 
room  clear  of  the  litter  each  day  after  I  get  through 
the  work." 

"  I  'm  glad  on  't.  She  can't  begin  too  soon,  fer 
she  's  got  ter  earn  her  own  livin'  when  she  's  of  age, 
'n'  time  flies.  Did  she  slick  up  yer  room  ter-day?" 

"  Yes." 

"I  thought  she'd  ben  here.  I  don't  know  what 
I  'd  er  done  'thout  her  when  ye  wuz  so  sick  —  folks 
comin'  'n'  goin',  inquirin',  'n'  sympathizin'.  I  could  n't 
tend  ter  'em  all." 

"  Who  came,  Aunt  Lize?" 

She  laughed  softly.  "  How  ye  Ve  changed,  Hughie  ! 
Three  months  ago,  I  dassen't  so  much  ez  tell  ye  Tag 
hed  stuck  his  nose  inter  the  door,  'n'  now  ye  want 
ter  know  who  come." 

"  Yes,  all  of  them,  Aunt  Lize." 

She  laughed  again.  "  Wai,  ther'  wuz  Uncle  Jo 
Cheatle,  fust  'n'  foremost,  'n'  the  Duddses  over  east- 
'ards,  'n'  the  new  Methody  minister  in  Scawsville,  'n' 
the  principal  down  ter  the  'Cademy;  'n'  then  ther' 
wuz  Silas  Strong,  —  ye  'member  he  done  the  loggin' 
with  yer  four  year  ago,  — 'n'  ther'  wuz  Lawyer  Binin's 
son,  he  said  he  wuz  in  yer  class ;  'n'  one  day,  two  gals 
drove  up,  'n'  one  on  'em  said  she  wuz  Linnie  Lane 
from  Scawsville ;  she  wuz  granddaughter  to  Elnathan 
Lane  thet  owned  the  saw-mill ;  he  'n'  yer  grand 
father  wuz  great  cronies  —  she  come  twice  —  " 

"  How  long  ago  was  that,  Aunt  Lize?  " 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          79 

"  Oh,  most  er  year  'n'  er  half.  She  wuz  dressed 
up  fit  ter  kill ;  hed  on  high  heel  gaiters  made  of 
kinder  brown  leather,  'n'  er  belt  ter  match,  'n'  seemed 
real  taken  aback  when  Twiddie  told  her  ye  would  n't 
see  anybody  but  me  'n'  Uncle  Shim  'n'  the  doctor, 
'n'  I  guess  she  took  the  hint. 

"  When  yer  Uncle  wuz  down  ter  Scawsville  las' 
spring,  he  heerd  'em  say  she  wuz  goin'  ter  marry  the 
mill-owner's  son  —  some  new  folks  thet  come  in  last 
winter;  'n'  t'  other  day  when  Shim  went  down  to 
meet  the  stage,  Uncle  Jo  told  him  they  'd  hed  the 
weddin'  thet  very  day.  She  wuz  purty  ez  er  picter 
'n'-  '  She  interrupted  herself  suddenly.  "My  land, 
Hughie  !  Here  I  be  keepin'  ye  up  past  ten  o'clock,  'n' 
the  kitchen  fire  most  out,  'n'  Shim  ketchin'  his  death 
er  cold  on  the  settle,  'n'  ye  're  lookin'  ez  tired  ez  ef 
ye  'd  ben  drawed  through  er  knot-hole,  'n'  me  runnin' 
on  like  the  North  Crick  in  er  freshet  —  Anyway, 
them  apples  air  all  done.  Ye  Ve  strung  more  'n  half 
sence  I  set  here." 

She  ministered  to  me  as  usual ;  but  when  the 
house  was  quiet,  I  could  not  sleep. 

February  6th. 

Clear  and  still  and  intensely  cold.  Every  day  the 
sun  rises  undimmed  through  the  frost-filled  air  upon 
the  white  world  of  the  mountains.  Every  day  it 
wheels  steadily  higher  to  the  north,  yet  the  icicles 
still  hang  from  the  eaves,  firm  as  rock  crystal.  Every 
day  it  sets,  clear,  undimmed,  red,  in  the  —  to  me  — 
unseen  west;  but  I  see  its  crimson  glow  reflected  in 
the  southeast  on  Killington  and  Pico. 


80         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

What  a  pleasure  to  have  finished  the  lintel  with  all 
its  summer  fulness  in  such  winter  weather ! 

At  last  Uncle  Shim  has  broken  out  the  whole 
length  of  the  Pent  Road ;  he  and  Twiddie  have  come 
back  with  the  mail —  a  letter,  two  books,  and  a  long 
flat  box.  My  letter  first: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

I  see  by  the  papers  that  you  are  snowed  up  in 
your  region  —  trains  and  mails  blocked,  and  stage- 
roads  impassable,  so  I  cannot  depend  upon  these 
sendings  to  reach  you  to  shorten  some  of  the  evening 
hours  during  this  storm. 

What  you  said  in  your  last,  about  work,  rings  true. 
I've  thought  that  myself — but  perhaps  I  have 
thought  it  in  just  that  way  because,  for  several  years 
past,  I  have  read  annually  Carlyle's  Past  and  Present, 
You  will  find  it  the  very  gospel  of  work  —  text, 
sermon,  preacher,  pulpit,  all  to  your  hand,  and,  I 
hope,  to  your  mind.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  struck  bed 
rock  every  time  I  read  it. 

By  the  way,  if  at  any  time  you  should  strike  a 
workable  "  vein  "  in  Michael  Angelo  and  brotherhood, 
or  in  Carlyle,  and  wish  to  follow  it  up,  just  let  me 
know.  Our  Club  has  a  good  library  for  use.  We 
are  glad  to  supply  a  box  of  books  on  demand  for 
such  mountain  Patmoses  as  yours,  —  may  the  revela 
tion  equal  St.  John's!  —  I  '11  trust  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle 
to  handle  anything  under  seven  stone. 

I  don't  know  what  you  '11  think  of  the  contents  of 
the  long  box  —  but  I  send  it  in  good  faith,  trusting 
that  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  Michael  Angelo 
won't  come  amiss  even  in  your  high  latitudes. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          81 

Greetings    to    Twiddle ;    I    should  like  to    see  the 

child's  face   as  you  describe  it  while  she  is  reading 

Hans  Andersen  by  firelight  —  that  is  an  added  touch 

of  phantasy.     Let  me  know  how  the  work  comes  on. 

Sincerely  yours, 

PHILIP  VANEVER. 

I  Ve  done  nothing  but  look,  and  look,  and  look 
again  —  I  can't  look  my  fill  at  a  large  photograph  of 
Angelo's  David ;  the  statue  seems  large  enough  to 
fill  in  the  whole  panel  space  above  the  mantel  shelf. 
I  shall  carve  a  frame  for  it  so  soon  as  the  spring 
shall  come,  and  I  find  time.  I  know  where  some 
alders  grow  by  the  brook  in  the  Hollow ;  they  shall 
serve  me  for  models  —  they  belong  to  my  shepherd 
lad  and  his  brook. 

What  hands  !  like  mine,  and  I  never  noticed  my 
own  till  now.  And  the  sinewy  arm,  and  the  turn  of 
that  nervy  wrist ;  it  knows  its  throwing  power  to  the 
hundredth  part  of  an  inch.  And  the  neck !  like  a 
young  stag's  —  half  the  carrying  force  of  that  Goliath 
pebble  lies  in  its  power  of  backward  brace.  I  know, 
for  I,  too,  used  to  sling  pebbles  from  our  brook,  long 
before  I  could  use  a  gun. 

Something  in  me  throbs  and  lifts  and  quivers,  the 
longer  I  look  —  You  bedridden  fool !  Carve  your 
little  cones  and  tamarack  branches ;  tend  to  your 
business ;  earn  your  seventy-five  dollars,  and  wor 
ship —  but  don't  aspire. 

Twiddie  eyes  the  Master's  work  with  awe.  Aunt 
Lize  hasn't  made  up  her  mind  about  it;  but  Uncle 

6- 


82        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Shim  said  it  looks  better  on  the  mantel-shelf  than  the 
coffin-plates ! 

Angelo's  David  drove  the  thought  of  Linnie  Lane 
Somebody  —  I  don't  know  her  name — completely 
out  of  my  mind.  Why  was  it  there  anyway?  It  had 
no  right.  Oh,  yes,  in  one  respect,  I  am  like  the 
angels  —  there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in 
marriage  for  the  like  of  me,  and  I  guess  that 's  my 
only  passport  to  angelhood.  I  curse  inwardly  when 
I  think  of  it,  for  I  know  with  the  spring  the  sap  will 
rise  —  and  I  am  a  man,  cheated  of  his  birthright. 

Just  a  blaze  of  blue  above,  a  dazzle  of  white  be 
neath  ;  day  in,  day  out,  a  steady,  stinging  cold ;  the 
snow  two  feet  deep  in  the  woods  for  the  choppers. 
Uncle  Shim  is  driving  the  ox-sled  down  the  Pent 
Road  to  Gilead  with  a  load  of  bark  for  the  tannery. 
The  runners  squeak  and  grate  on  the  packed  ice- 
snow  ;  the  vapor  from  the  steaming  hides  frosts  in  a 
white  mist  about  the  rough-coated  creatures.  The 
yoke  strains  and  creaks.  I  always  like  to  hear  Uncle 
Shim  guide  the  oxen,  by  voice  and  thong.  His 
drawling  "  A-hish,  thar !  "  is  a  thing  to  remember. 

February  28th. 

Twenty-seven  below  this  morning.  The  outside 
sounds  are  flat  and  lifeless.  Aunt  Lize  said  the 
kettle  of  water  on  the  back  of  the  stove  skimmed 
over,  although  there  was  a  good  fire  in  the  front  of 
it.  Tag  came  in  with  a  frozen  paw,  and  is  lying 
before  the  fire  near  enough  to  scorch  him  in  ordi 
nary  weather. 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          83 

Uncle  Shim  has  moved  my  cot  in  front  of  the  fire 
place,  and  I  have  managed  to  work  an  hour  at  a  time 
by  warming  my  hands  on  the  soapstone  Aunt  Lize 
has  wrapped  in  an  old  flannel  shirt  and  laid  on  the 
cot  beside  me.  The  windows  are  white  with  frost  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  in  thickness ;  even  Twiddie  can't 
blow  peep-holes  through  it. 

To-night  they  are  all  in  my  room,  huddled  around 
the  fire  —  a  back-log  of  hard  maple,  the  girth  of  a 
man,  and  red  as  a  live  coal  to  the  heart  of  it ;  a  fore- 
log  of  beech,  with  pine  and  birch  piled  high  on  top. 
Twiddie  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands,  rough  and 
cracked  with  the  cold,  and  danced  up  and  down  the 
room  in  the  flare  of  the  firelight  on  the  walls. 

A  big  crock  of  cider,  with  a  red  pepper  bobbing 
about  in  it,  is  mulling  in  a  corner  of  the  hearth. 
Uncle  Shim  has  filled  the  wooden  chopping-tray  with 
hot  popped  corn ;  —  the  smell  of  it  tickles  a  man's 
nostrils  in  the  dead  of  winter.  Aunt  Lize  is  trying  to 
knit,  but  it 's  slow  work,  for  although  the  heat  from 
the  fire  warms  our  faces,  when  we  turn,  we  can  see 
the  vapor  of  our  breaths  in  the  room. 

Angelo's  David  is  no  longer  white,  but  warmed  and 
glowing  in  the  lighted  room. 

When  Aunt  Lize  had  poured  out  the  hot  cider  into 
the  tin  cups,  and  handed  it  around,  Uncle  Shim,  who 
was  scooping  his  with  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction,  said  : 
"  Come,  Twiddie,  give  us  yer  Fir  Tree.  Kinder 
warms  ye  up  jest  ter  hear  'bout  thet  party."  That 
story  is  Uncle  Shim's  favorite.  But  I  heard  little  of 
it,  —  the  mind  was  seeing,  —  till  she  came  to  the  last 


84        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

words,  "  and  the  story  is  past,  too  — past,  past —  and 
that's  the  way  with  all  stories"  ;  and  I  know  that 
my  story  is  past,  nor  Linnie  Lane,  nor  any  other 
girl  will  ever  enter  into  it.  I  spoke  out  my  thought, 
suddenly: 

"  Where  's  that  log,  Uncle  Shim,  that  felled  me?" 

He  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair,  looked  helplessly 
at  Aunt  Lize,  and  rose  to  go. 

"  Guess  I  'd  better  look  ter  the  stock  agin  'fore  I 
turn  in,  Lize — ye  want  more  wood,  Hughie?" 

"  Yes,  I  want  that  wood,  Uncle  Shim  —  no,  no,  sit 
down  ;  I  'm  sane  enough."  My  long  arms  pulled  him 
back  to  the  chair. 

"  What  'd  ye  do  with  it,  Shim?"  Aunt  Lize  asked 
bravely,  and  the  sound  of  her  voice  encouraged  Uncle 
Shim,  as  it  always  does  at  all  his  unmarked  cross 
roads  in  life. 

"  I  hauled  it  down  inter  the  shed,  Hughie  —  it  give 
me  the  creeps  ter  see  it  layin'  thar  every  time  I  went 
through  the  clearin  ' ;  'n'  so  I  snaked  it  down  inter  the 
shed,  'n'  then  I  could  n't  abide  ter  tech  the  cussed 
thing  with  er  decent  saw  'n'  axe,  but  —  wal,  ye  '11 
think  I  'm  'n  A.  Number  One  fool  ef  I  tell  ye  - 

"Go-ahead,  Uncle  Shim;  I  can  stand  anything 
after  this,  you  know." 

"  Wal,  the  sight  on  't  sickened  me,  'n'  I  felt  so  riled 
up,  thet  one  day  I  heated  the  long  poker  white  hot, 
'n'  went  out  unbeknownst  ter  Lize,  'n'  branded  the 
dummed  log  with  er  word  —  He  hesitated. 

"  What  word,  Uncle  Shim  ?  " 

"  Why,  Shim  Lewis !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Lize, 
"what  d'  ye  go  keepin'  sech  doin's  from  me  fer?  — 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          85 

Ye  did  n't  swear  inter  it,  did  ye  ? "  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"  I  ain't  no  blasphemer,  Lize,"  retorted  Uncle  Shim 
with  some  warmth ;  "  I  jest  burned  it  in  good  'n' 
deep  —  I  wuz  feared  ye  'd  smell  the  bark,  Lize  —  " 

"Fer  the  land's  sakes,  Shimei  Lewis,  WHAT?  — 
I  b'lieve  ye  grow  long-windeder  every  day  of  yef 
life." 

"  Cain." 

"  My  soul !  "  said  Aunt  Lize  with  an  anxious  look 
at  me. 

"  'N'  arter  thet,  I  don't  deny  but  thet  I  felt  better, 
'n'  I  rolled  it  agin  the  underpinnin',  'n'  piled  ten  cords 
er  hard  wood  on  top  on  't,  'n'  I  guess  't  '11  be  seasoned 
'fore  I  need  it." 

"  But  I  want  it,  well-seasoned,  too." 

"  What  ye  goin'  ter  do  with  it?  "  Aunt  Lize  looked 
at  me  suspiciously. 

"  No  harm,  Aunt  Lize.  I  've  often  wondered  what 
became  of  it.  It  was  a  black  birch,  was  n't  it?" 

"  Yes,  't  wuz  thet  big  one  we  said  we  'd  git  out 
'fore  we  went  inter  the  woods  east'ards  —  three  foot 
through  ter  the  butt" 

"  I  know." 

He  went  out.  Twiddie  had  fallen  asleep  in  the 
warmth  of  Aunt  Lize's  arms.  In  fact,  the  room  was 
warmer,  and  when  Uncle  Shim  came  back,  he  reported 
clouds  in  the  south  and  east;  a  sign  on  our  Mountain, 
at  this  time,  of  milder  weather. 

The  sun  is  running  high ;  it  will  soon  be  time  for 
sugaring.  I  have  been  making  spigots  for  Uncle 


86         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lyrnpus 

Shim.  The  snow  has  settled  and  melted,  and  the 
woods  ring  with  the  axes  of  the  choppers ;  —  Uncle 
Shim  has  let  out  four  acres  to  cut  to  halves.  I  can 
bear  the  sound  better,  and  am  busy  finishing  the  last 
panel. 

A  stag  and  three  does  crossed  the  Pent  Road  just 
below  the  spruce-bush  —  lean-coated,  gray,  gaunt 
from  famine.  Tag  was  off  with  Uncle  Shim  in  the 
woods,  and  they  came  down  to  the  sheep-pen  for  a 
wisp  of  hay.  I  have  told  Twiddie  to  carry  a  big 
bundle  of  it  up  to  the  spruce-bush  for  them. 

March  I4th. 

It 's  a  grand  book  —  that  Past  and  Present  !  The 
lesson  of  the  Past  is  the  lesson  of  the  Present,  and 
Life  elucidates  Life.  The  horizon,  yonder,  has  nar 
rowed  since  reading  it.  I  'd  like  to  know  more  of 
Thomas  Carlyle  —  I  Ve  struck  one  vein  I  '11  work. 
And  to  have  the  books !  To  be  starved  no  longer, 
but  to  put  out  my  hand  and  find  food  within  reach  ! 

Just  to  stand  at  the  door  of  such  a  Life's  smithy, 
and  see  the  smith  at  work,  ringing  blow  on  blow  upon 
the  anvil,  hammering,  shaping,  heating,  welding,  while 
the  glowing  metal,  the  showering  sparks,  the  plung 
ing  hiss  of  white-hot  iron,  the  clouds  of  acrid  steam, 
the  labored  breath  of  the  leathern  bellows,  toil,  smut, 
grime,  all  intermingle  —  and  a  character  is  forged  ! 

I  Ve  finished  the  book  at  twelve  of  the  kitchen 
clock,  and  am  still  crying,  "  Give,  give !  " 

The  panels  went  off  to-day,  after  we  had  set  them 
up  about  our  fireplace  to  see  what  kind  of  an  appear- 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          87 

ance  they  would  make  in  that  distant  city  "  den." 
Uncle  Shim  and  Twiddle  took  them  down  in  the  pung 
to  meet  the  stage. 

Twiddle  came  home  wild  with  excitement ;  she  has 
an  order  for  spruce  gum  from  Philip  Vanever's  friend, 
the  owner  of  the  panels.  She  has  asked  me  to  keep 
her  letters  with  mine  —  how  selfish  I  have  been ! 
Never  a  thought  of  Twiddie  at  Christmas !  I  might 
have  made  her  a  little  box  for  her  few  treasures.  I  '11 
make  good  this  neglect. 

"  Oh,  Hughie,  see,  see  !  It 's  comin'  true  !  "  she 
cried,  rushing  into  the  room,  her  eyes  blue-black 
again,  her  cheeks  red,  her  face  alight  with  joy.  I 
have  always  thought  her  a  homely  enough  child,  but 
to-day  —  why,  I  rubbed  my  eyes ;  it  was  surely 
Twiddie,  but  a  glorified  one  ;  Ole  Luk-oie  must  have 
squirted  some  of  his  magic  milk  into  my  eyes.  She 
flaunted  the  envelope  before  my  face. 

"Read,  read  quick,  Hughie  — ;  "  and  I  read,  of 
course  aloud,  to  please  her: 

"  '  Dear  Miss  Twiddie  — '  "  she  clapped  her  hands, 
interrupting  me : 

"Didn't  I  tell  ye,  Hughie,  ther  wuz  one  allus  be 
gun  '  Dear  Miss  Twiddie '  ?  The  other,  ye  know,  is 
the  '  Dear  Twiddie '  one.  Now  begin  again." 

"  DEAR  Miss  TWIDDIE, 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Vanever,  told  me  when  he  came 
back  from  Vermont,  that  you  lived  near  a  big  spruce 
wood,  where  you  can  find  the  real  spruce  gum.  I  'm 
so  tired  of  the  stick  chewing-gum  —  you  know  the 


88         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

kind,  lavender-pink,  with  the  flavoring  in  it  —  ["  I 
don't,  Hughie."]  It  does  n't  taste  country  enough, 
and  I  wish  I  might  have  some  of  the  real  kind. 
If  you  could  get  some  for  me,  I  should  be  glad  to 
purchase  a  pound  or  two  ;  the  price  would  be  a  dollar 
and  a  half  a  pound. 

"  Very  soon  I  shall  sit  down  before  the  new  fire 
place  in  my  library,  for  I  hear  from  your  Cousin  he 
has  sent  the  panels,  and  look  at  the  larch,  its  branches 
and  catkins,  its  leaves  and  its  cones  showing  so  en 
ticingly  in  the  firelight,  and  then  I  shall  want  a  good 
piece  of  spruce  gum  to  chew  —  for  when  I  chew 
real  gum  I  make  believe  I  live  near  the  real  woods ; 
the  gum  always  tastes  to  me  as  the  spruce  trees 
smell  —  does  it  to  you?  Do  you  ever  make  believe 
things? 

"  I  'm  coming  up  some  time  to  see  you  and  the 
butternut  tree  and  your  Cousin  Hugh  and  the  real 
larches  and  spruces ;  Mr.  Vanever  says  he  '11  take  me 
with  him.  Meanwhile,  I  want  the  spruce  gum,  and 
am, 

"  Dear  Miss  Twiddle, 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  RICHARD  MALORY." 

She  breathed  a  long  sigh  of  satisfaction  and  nodded 
gravely.  "  I  shall  write  him  I  hain't  never  seen  no 
lavender-pink  chewin'-gum,  'n'  thet  I  do  make  b'lieve 
lots  er  things,  'n'  ef  he  '11  tell  me  hisn  I  '11  tell  him 
mine.  Thet 's  fair,  ain't  it,  Hughie  ?  I  'm  goin'  ter  git 
some  now,  'n'  p'r'aps  he  'd  like  some  butternut  meats, 
—  'n'  oh,  Hughie!  s'posin'  I  should  send  him  some 
maple  sugar  bimeby  —  would  it  help  him  ter  make 
b'lieve  some  more?" 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          89 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,  Twiddle,  but  —  hold  on,  wait  a 
minute.  Tell  me  if  you  Ve  had  a  letter  from  that 
other  chap  lately,  the  one  that  begins,  '  Dearest 
Theodora'?" 

She  hung  her  head.  "No,  I  hain't,  not  fer  —  oh, 
ever  so  long." 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  forgotten  you?  " 

She  shook  her  head  emphatically,  and  ran  away; 
but  not  before  I  saw  the  tears  well  in  her  eyes,  and 
quench  the  glad  light  in  them.  She 's  a  curious 
child.  I  wonder  who  her  father  was,  or  is  —  the  gal 
lows  are  too  good  for  such,  who  leaves  a  girl  like  that 
unfathered. 

How  selfishly  blind  I  Ve  been !  What  must  the 
child's  little  letters  to  men  of  Philip  Vanever's  stamp 
have  been  like?  All  that  untrained  speech  of  the 
Mountain  caught  from  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  — 
I  '11  begin  to-morrow  with  her.  I  know  how  hard  it 
was  to  break  myself  the  first  few  months  at  the  Acad 
emy,  and  the  shame  of  it  all.  I  Ve  sweat  many  a 
time  when  I  Ve  blundered  in  class  with  the  habitual 
"  hain't "  and  "  warn't,"  and  Twiddie  sha'n't  suffer  so 
for  want  of  that  training  when  she  meets  these  men 
who  say  they're  going  to  find  out  our  Mountain 
another  summer.  She  shall  be  fitted  for  a  different 
life,  even  if  she  lives  and  dies  on  Olympus. 

March  25th,  and  the  first  crow-caw.  Twiddle's  car 
rots,  scraped  hollow  and  filled  with  water,  are  sus 
pended  from  strings  in  front  of  the  south  windows; 
they  are  so  many  hanging  cups  of  feathery  green. 


she  seems  suspicious  of  it.     I 
I  '11  send  it  down  by  Uncle  Jo 


90        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

She  is  going  to  the  district  school  during  the  spring 
term. 

Seventy-five  dollars ;    I  've  said   it  over   and   over 
again,  and  failed  to  realize  it,  staring  at  the  check  — 
the  first  I  Ve  ever  had.     It  doesn't  mean  anything  to 
me  —  that  slip  of  paper  ;  if  the  money  had  been  sent  it 
would  seem  real.     I  think  Aunt  Lize  is  disappointed; 

But  I  know  it 's  all  right. 
Cheatle  to  get  it  cashed 
at  Alderbury,  and  I  '11  write  him  a  word  or  two  and 
tell  him  there  '11  be  no  more  shabby  treatment  of  him 
the  next  time  he  gets  up  the  Mountain  to  see  me ; 
and  I  '11  ask  him,  as  a  favor,  to  take  five  or  six  dollars 
of  the  money,  and  buy  a  quarter  of  a  hundred  of  white 
sugar,  and  two  pounds  of  Uncle  Shim's  cut-plug  —  the 
same  kind  he  uses  —  and  five  pounds  of  good  coffee, 
and  to  pay  for  a  year's  subscription  for  the  County 
Granger,  and  if  there  's  any  left,  to  put  it  into  stamps 
and  good  letter  paper  and  some  coarse  white  draw 
ing  sheets  and  a  half  pound  of  pink  gumdrops  for 
Twiddie  — 

I  stared  so  long  at  the  check  that  I  forgot  the 
other  letters.  On  opening  one,  I  found  an  order 
from  that  Society,  of  which  Philip  Vanever  told  me, 
for  two  mahogany  panels,  larch  design,  to  put  into  an 
old-fashioned  cabinet  top — -they  have  forwarded  the 
wood  by  express.  Oh,  if  summer  were  only  here, 
with  its  gifts  of  mullein  and  fern,  of  oak  and  tassel- 
ling  corn  and  bearded  wheat,  of  the  wild  grape,  its 
leaves  and  tendrils  —  all  models  to  my  hand! 

The  other  letter  from  my  friend  —  my  friend!  I 
love  to  linger  on  the  sound  of  the  words.  I  have  held 


The  Mountain  and  the  Man          91 

it  in  my  hand  for  half  an  hour,  in  lieu  of  the  hand 
clasp  I  'm  wanting.  He  is  sending  a  box  of  books, 
"  incited  thereto,"  so  he  writes,  "  by  your  hearty  re 
ception  of  Carlyle.  He  was  so  big  a  gun  to  fire  at 
you  without  warning,  that  I  had  my  doubts,  but,  any 
how,  there  's  no  smokeless  powder  about  him  ;  you 
always  know  when  he  has  fired  and  what  he  's  aiming 
at.  We  '11  talk  this  over  in  the  summer. 

"  I  'm  off  now  on  a  half-way-round-the-world  trip 
to  Japan,  and  shall  be  gone  four  months.  In  the 
interim,  I  send  you  a  dozen  or  two  friends  of  mine 
(consider  this  a  letter  of  introduction,  which  they 
present),  and  so  assure  myself  you  will  be  in  good 
company  while  I  am  gone. 

"  The  fireplace  is  perfect;  Dick  Malory  is  showing 
it  off  to  a  half  dozen  people  a  day  —  he's  near  your 
age,  by  the  way,  and  just  out  of  college  —  and  he  told 
me  yesterday  he  had  two  orders  already  for  you,  but 
you  're  not  to  repeat  his  special  design.  Dick  is  a  bit 
selfish  when  it  comes  to  a  matter  of  art,  but  I  honestly 
think  it  will  be  well  to  indulge  him  in  this  whim,  un 
less  you  are  put  to  it  for  models  or  designs  at  this 
season.  In  any  case,  if  I  may  offer  a  word,  I  would 
put  off  the  carvings  for  the  orders,  if  possible,  until 
Dame  Nature  can  supply  you  with  some  new  ideas, 
rather  than  repeat  this  charming  design.  People  are 
willing  to  pay  for  originality.  Of  course,  what  I  have 
said  applies  only  to  the  fireplaces ;  Dick  has  no 
thought,  no  intention,  nor  could  have  any  power,  to 
restrict  you  as  to  other  applications  of  the  larch 
design. 

"  Tell  Twiddie  I  '11  bring  her  a  Japanese  teapot  and 
a  kimono.  I  have  put  in  a  story-book  for  her,— 


92        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Little  Women  ;  and  for  you,  that  you  may  travel  with 
me,  —  you  have  the  imagination  for  it,  —  two  books 
on  the  little  Japs,  their  country  and  their  art 

"  Greetings  to  one  and  all  on  your  Mountain,  and 
for  yourself,  a  hearty  hand-shake  from 
"  Yours  faithfully, 

"  PHILIP  VANEVER. 

"  P.  S.     Write  to  Dick  if  you  strike  a  snag  in  the 
business  while  I  am  away.  P.  V." 


Ill 

WHAT   HAPPENED   IN   THE   PEN 


Ill 

WHAT   HAPPENED   IN   THE   PEN 

I  WAS  so  excited  last  night  at  the  thought  of  all 
the  new  life  entering  into  mine  that  I  could  not 
sleep. 

The  box  has  come :  a  part  of  that  other  world 
coming  to  me  —  Lanciani,  Hare,  Ruskin  and  Vasari, 
Browning  and  Byron,  Sand  and  Dumas. 

And  all  these  are  strangers  from  over  the  sea,  the 
names  of  but  one  or  two  known  to  me,  who  have 
come  to  me  here  on  this  "  back  farm  "  in  New  England 
and  are  to  sit  at  my  fireside  and  by  my  bedside  to  tell 
me  of  that  other  world  beyond  our  mountains ;  to 
hearten  me  in  my  down  hours  and  hold  intimate  con 
verse  with  me  in  my  midnight  watches. 

He  said  they  were  his  friends  —  may  they  abide 
with  me  until  they  become  mine.  I  Ve  gathered 
them  all  into  my  arms  and  hugged  them  close  and 
hard. 

That 's  curious !  I  had  forgotten  Twiddie,  to  whom 
I  had  given  her  book,  and,  on  looking  around  with 
my  arms  full  of  my  books,  I  saw  her  sitting  on  the 
rug  before  the  fire  hugging  her  one,  with  both  arms, 
too,  as  tightly  as  ever  she  could.  She  was  singing  to 
herself.  I  listened ;  it  was  that  old  verse  she  has 
caught  from  Aunt  Lize. 


96        The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

April  5th. 

I  smell  the  breaking  up  of  winter  —  snow-water  set 
tling  in  among  masses  of  thawing  leaves  produces  it. 

Uncle  Shim  reports  a  great  run  of  sap.  Two 
Canucks  have  come  over  from  the  Duddses'  to  help 
him ;  it  was  too  hard  for  a  woman  and  child.  Such 
leather-skinned,  weasel-eyed  runts,  but  tough  as  pine- 
knots  !  I  had  them  in  after  supper,  and  the  one  they 
call  "  Toughheel "  broke  out  suddenly  with : 

"  Bah  gosh  !     Ah  'shamed." 

"  Ashamed  of  what,  Toughheel  ?  " 

"  Ah  'shamed  ah  mah  legs";  and  then  the  honest 
fellow  gripped  my  hand,  wrung  it,  and  went  out  with 
a  sob,  like  a  child.  We  used  to  work  together  haul 
ing  logs  and  peeling  bark. 

Last  night,  about  nine,  I  heard  the  roar  in  the  Hol 
low.  The  warm  sun  and  the  two  days'  rain  have 
loosened  every  little  run,  and  the  brook-ice  has  given 
way  at  last ;  a  rushing  torrent  fills  the  narrow  bed. 

I,  too,  feel  as  if  something  had  given  way  within 
me ;  he  is  only  a  Canuck,  but  his  sudden  word  of  sym 
pathy  is  the  first  I  have  been  willing  to  accept.  I 
have  played  the  coward  and  acted  the  fool  hitherto. 
Henceforth  no  shirking,  no  shrinking,  but  "  Tapfer- 
keit"  —  the  "deliberate  valor"  of  Carlyle.  I  wish  I 
knew  German. 

Toughheel  —  Toughheel,  I  have  been  saying  over 
to  myself,  and  it  has  come  to  me  that  it  must  mean 
Th6ophile.  I  Ve  been  working"  hammer  and  tongs" 
at  the  French  these  last  two  months  and  am  ready  for 
all  the  foreigners  in  my  box. 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen          97 

The  days  are  full,  full  to  the  brim,  sometimes  over 
flowing  with  springtime,  work,  reading,  studying,  and 
just  living.  The  song-sparrows  have  come,  and  a 
flock  of  red-winged  blackbirds  have  found  their  way 
to  the  alders,  so  Twiddie  says,  and  are  minded  to 
settle  there. 

"What's  the  matter,  Aunt  Lize?"  I  said,  as  she 
made  her  appearance  at  the  east  door  this  morning. 
She  looked  worried. 

"Whar's  Twiddie?  I  hain't  see  her  fer  more'n 
two  hours.  She  wuz  goin'  ter  help  me  set  them 
Plymouth  Rocks,  'n'  then  Shim  wanted  her  to  help 
him  drop  'n'  cover  them  early  peas.  I  can't  leave  ter 
look  her  up,  fer  I  've  got  ter  tend  ter  my  bread,  'n'  — 
Thar  she  comes  now,  moonin*  erlong;  what  hez  got 
inter  her,  Hughie?" 

"  We  '11  find  out,  Aunt  Lize ;  you  try  first." 

Aunt  Lize  went  to  the  door.  "  Whar  ye  ben, 
Twiddie?" 

I  saw  Twiddie  jump,  hide  something  under  her 
apron,  then  run  round  the  house  for  dear  life. 

"  Now  look  at  thet,  Hughie  !  What  ails  her,  any 
way  ;  you  don't  s'pose  thet  t'  other  blood  's  showin' 
up  arter  thirteen  years,  do  ye?  'n'  the  child's  taken 
to  deceivin'  ?  She  's  allus  ben  jest  ez  straight  ez  er 
string."  She  went  out,  calling  sharply,  "  Twiddie, 
come  here." 

Twiddie  came,  but  through  the  kitchen,  outflank 
ing  Aunt  Lize,  who  had  gone  round  the  house  in 
search  of  her.  In  a  minute,  Aunt  Lize  followed  her 
in,  her  face  red  with  vexation. 


98         The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"Whar  ye  ben,  Twiddle?"  I  never  heard  Aunt 
Lize  speak  so  sharply  before  to  the  child.  Twiddie 
turned  white. 

"  Out  in  the  barn." 

"  What  fer,  I  'd  like  ter  know?" 

"  Ter  set  the  hens." 

"Set  the  hens!"  cried  Aunt  Lize,  shrilly;  "ye 
hain't  set  er  hen  this  mornin',  Twiddie  Lewis,  V 
me  wastin'  my  time  waitin'  fer  ye  ter  do  it  —  don't 
tell  me."  She  laid  her  hand  heavily  on  the  child's 
shoulder,  but  at  the  touch  Twiddie  sprang  back 
wards,  planting  her  feet  firmly,  and  clinching  her 
fists. 

"  Don't  ye  tech  me  so !  "  she  shouted  rather  than 
cried,  in  her  clear,  high  voice.  Aunt  Lize  looked  at  me 
in  helpless  amazement,  and  I  saw  her  hand  tremble. 

"  Ef  ye  tech  me  like  thet,  I  '11  tell  ye  lies."  We 
both  noticed  that  her  eyelids  were  red  and  swollen, 
as  if  she  had  been  crying,  —  an  unusual  thing  for 
her. 

I  think  Aunt  Lize  must  have  had  a  vision  of 
"  t'  other  blood  showin'  up,"  for  I  saw  war  to  the 
knife  written  in  her  face,  and  I  knew  she  would  go  to 
almost  any  length  rather  than  give  in  to  it.  But  she 
controlled  herself  well. 

"  Whar  ye  ben,  Twiddie?" 

"  Out  in  the  barn." 

"What  fer?" 

"  Ter  set  the  hens." 

"  Wai,  ye  hain't  sot  'em."  Twiddie  was  silent. 
Aunt  Lize  returned  to  the  charge. 

"What  ye  ben  doin'?" 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen          99 

"  Layin'  on  the  hay." 

"  What  ye  doin'  layin'  on  the  hay,  I'd  like  to 
know,  this  time  er  day?" 

"  Makin'  b'lieve."     Aunt  Lize  looked  horrified. 

"Makin'  b'lieve  what?" 

"Jo." 

"  Jo  who?"  asked  Aunt  Lize,  faintly,  her  eyes  like 
green  gooseberries. 

"Jo  March." 

"Who's  Jo  March,  Hughie?"  Aunt  Lize  looked  at 
me  appealingly. 

"  I  don't  know,  Aunt  Lize." 

"  'Fore  I  'd  make  b'lieve  boys,"  'said  Aunt  Lize, 
trying  scorn. 

"  T  ain't  boys,"  answered  Twiddie,  doggedly. 

"  Wai,  who  is  she,  then?  " 

"  She  ain't  nobody,  not  truly."  Aunt  Lize  began 
to  look  as  if  she  were  seeing  ghosts. 

"  Ain't  nobody  !     What  d'  ye  mean  by  thet?  " 

"  She 's  made  b'lieve  too ;  'n'  all  on  'em,  Amy,  V 
Meg,  'n'  —  Oh,  I  can't  bear  it !  "  She  set  up  a  howl 
that  I  could  see  would  eventually  drive  Aunt  Lize 
distracted. 

"  Twiddie,"  she  said  solemnly,  and  this  time  she 
laid  her  hand  with  her  usual  tenderness  upon  the 
head  bowed  into  the  gingham  apron,  "  Twiddie,  whar 
ye  ben?  can't  ye  tell  me?" 

"  Ter  the  fun'ral  —  the  fun'ral,  'n'  Laurie  —  'n'  Amy 
warn't  there,  'n'  only  Jo  —  Beth  hed  the  fever  —  the 
fever,  ye  know,  'n'  never  got  well  —  'n'  —  oh,  dear 
me  !  "  Sobs  shook  her  so  that  I  began  to  fear  for 
the  child. 


ioo      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Aunt  Lize  was  beaten.  She  turned  to  me  with  the 
old  worried  look  on  her  face  I  used  to  see  there 
when  she  was  watching  me  that  first  year  and  a  half, 
and  whispered : 

"  Ye  don't  think,  Hughie,  ther'  could  be  anything 
here?"  She  put  her  finger  to  her  forehead  signifi 
cantly  —  "  in  thet  t'  other  blood  ?  She  's  jest  the  age, 
ye  know,  fer  it  ter  show.  My  land  !  I  'm  weaker  'n 
er  rag;  I  guess  I  '11  hev  ter  set  down." 

Poor  Aunt  Lize.  The  bread  began  to  scorch  before 
she  was  fairly  seated  in  the  wooden  rocking-chair; 
whereupon,  she  flew  out  into  the  kitchen  like  a  hen 
with  her  head  cut  oft".  Twiddle  was  still  crying. 

"  Twiddie,  come  here,"  I  said.  She  came  and 
stood  by  the  cot,  and  I  drew  her  hands  down  from 
her  face.  But  she  hung  her  head  when  I  tried  to  dry 
the  tears  on  her  apron. 

"You  don't  want  to  trouble  Aunt  Lize,  do  you? 
She  has  enough  to  do  and  to  fret  her  with  me  here ; 
she  must  n't  have  you,  too,  on  her  hands." 

She  gave  her  head  a  dissenting  shake. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  what  you  were  doing  out  in 
the  barn?"  She  found  her  tongue  then,  and  the 
words  fell  over  one  another. 

"Jest  readin'  Little  Women,  Hughie,  out  in  the 
barn,  'n'  makin'  b'lieve  Jo;  'n'  Beth  hed  jest  died,  'n' 
I  fergot  Aunt  Lize  wanted  me  fer  the  hens,  'n'  I 
fergot  'bout  Uncle  Shim  'n'  the  peas,  'n'  — ye  hain't  " 
("Haven't,  Twiddie,"  I  corrected,)  "haven't,"  she 
repeated  obediently,  "ye  haven't"  ("You,  Twiddie, 
remember,")  "you  haven't  read  it,  but  when  ye" 
("You,  Twiddie,")  "you  do  read  it,  Hughie,^//'//" 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen         101 

("  That 's  right,  Twiddle,")  "  cry  too,  'n'  fergit  "  ("  No, 
no,  —  forget,")  "  forget  things  like  as  I  do"  ("As  I 
do,")  "  as  I  do."  She  began  to  smile. 

"  I'll  read  it,  Twiddie,  but  I  won't  promise  to  cry; 
there  are  so  many  real  things  to  cry  over." 

"But  you'll,  you'll"  ("Yes,  I  hear,")  "think 
they  're  real,  'n'  thet  's  all  the  same." 

"  I  have  n't  made  up  my  mind  about  that  yet, 
Twiddie.  Now  run  and  help  Aunt  Lize." 

Those  little  Japs  are  a  wonderful  people.  I  have 
finished  the  two  books  Philip  Vanever  sent  me.  I 
get  an  inward  vision  of  them  set  among  their  plum 
and  cherry  blossoms,  their  miniature  waterfalls  and 
yellow  chrysanthemum  blooms  —  the  blue  sea  en 
circling  all. 

What  is  the  sea  like,  I  wonder?  Sometimes,  when 
of  a  morning  the  valley  of  the  White  Branch  is  filled 
with  blue-gray  mist  that  rises  and  falls  as  if  some 
great  heart  were  beating  beneath  it,  and,  beyond,  in 
the  east  the  mountain  tops  heave  dark  blue  against 
the  horizon,  with  half-shut  eyes  I  narrow  my  line  of 
vision  and  say  to  myself,  "  That  is  like  the  sea." 
Sometimes  I  fancy  I  see  a  sail,  but  it  is  only  the 
sunlight  catching  on  the  bellies  of  a  flock  of  swallows 
that  wheel  suddenly  at  an  acute  angle  in  mid-air. 

Sunday,  May  2nd. 

Cherry  blossoms,  chrysanthemum  blooms,  visions 
of  blue  seas  !  What  joy  do  they  give  me  comparable 
to  the  sight  of  Uncle  Shim  in  clean  shirt-sleeves  sit 
ting  on  the  step  of  my  east  door  and  smoking  like 
a  blast  furnace !  And  /  earned  the  cut-plug,  and 


IO2       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

with  my  two  hands  can  keep  up  the  supply,  I  hope 
indefinitely.  — 

I  miss  Twiddie.  She  is  all  day  at  the  school,  and 
the  house  is  alone  with  me.  Aunt  Lize  is  helping 
Uncle  Shim,  for  it  is  lambing-time,  and  the  ewes  have 
dropped  naught  but  weaklings  this  year.  Uncle  Shim 
says  it  was  the  steady,  bitter  cold  of  February  that 
did  it  —  never  a  day  on  which  at  noon  the  mercury 
was  over  five  above.  There  's  one  now  !  He  's  been 
lying  in  the  clothes-basket  by  the  kitchen  fire  since 
yesterday  afternoon,  and  Aunt  Lize  has  been  feeding 
him.  By  the  sound,  I  '11  bet  he  's  on  his  feet  this 
very  minute  —  "  Ca-duc,  ca-duc  —  " 

Oh,  my  God  !  and  I  used  to  call  them  at  the  lower 
bars  of  the  Old  Pasture,  and  love  to  feel  them  crowd 
me  with  their  soft,  warm  bodies  — 

At  my  call,  the  day-old  idiot  actually  came  stag 
gering  on  its  wabbly  legs  into  my  room,  and  blatted 
at  me,  and  rubbed  against  the  cot.  When  I  put  my 
fingers  to  its  mouth,  it  took  them  all  in,  and  sucked, 
and  sucked,  as  if  it  could  never  have  enough  ! 

The  dumb  fool  of  a  beast — no  more  fool  than  I; 
for  I  found  as  I  watched  it,  that  its  fleece  was  turning 
all  colors  of  the  rainbow,  and  my  cheeks  were  wet. 

Twiddie  gave  me  no  peace  until  I  read  Little 
Women ;  and  now,  in  the  long  May  twilights,  we 
talk  together  of  Meg  and  Jo,  of  Beth  and  Amy,  of 
Laurie — lucky  dog;  and  the  little  woman  on  the 
doorstep  lives  in  another  world,  and  I  have  the 
key  that  unlocks  the  door  by  which  she  enters  it; 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen         103 

if  I    had  n't,  I  should    be  a  "  shut-out "   as  well  as 
a  "shut-in." 

What  an  old  house  this  is !  —  Every  clapboard 
weather-blackened  and  browned.  —  I  Ve  been  think 
ing  of  what  Philip  Vanever  wrote  about  coming  up 
here  again  in  the  summer;  I  believe  he  meant  it. 
Then  Twiddle's  friend,  Mr.  Richard  Malory,  whom  I 
call  Dick  Malory  because  I  like  the  name  and  he  is 
near  my  age,  wrote  her  he  was  coming  too.  I  wish 
I  could  make  the  old  house  beautiful  for  them;  if 
only  — 

I  have  it !  I  've  been  hatching  plans  as  fast  as  the 
White  Brahma,  that  has  stolen  her  nest  in  the  depths 
of  the  spruce-bush,  has  been  hatching  her  chickens 
to-day,  —  eleven  thus  far,  Twiddie  reports. 

We  Ve  a  lot  of  spruce  boards  and  two  or  three 
bundles  of  laths,  and  if  I  can  ply  Uncle  Shim  long 
enough  with  cut-plug  and  keep  him  answering  ques 
tions  as  to  how  he  did  things  when  he  was  a  boy  over 
in  York  State,  I  'm  sure  I  can  get  something  knocked 
together;  and  if,  in  addition,  I  can  rouse  Aunt  Lize's 
enthusiasm  and  Twiddie's  curiosity,  I  '11  fetch  it. 

We  're  hard  at  work.  Uncle  Shim  laid  the  floor 
ing  yesterday ;  to-day  we  're  finishing  it.  It 's  just  a 
big  latticed  porch  like  one  I  found  in  an  illustrated 
book  on  Holland  that  Vanever  sent  me :  the  gable  of 
my  end  of  the  house  extended  ten  feet  and  supported 
on  four  stout  cedar  posts ;  a  big  flooring  laid  beneath 
it  on  a  level  with  my  east  door,  and  boarded  up  for 
two  feet  and  a  half  to  form  an  enclosure.  One  end, 


io4      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

to  the  south,  I  have  left  open  for  an  entrance.  Coarse 
lattice  fills  the  triangle  of  the  gable  and  follows  down 
the  sides  of  the  posts.  I  'm  going  to  cover  it  with 
vines,  fill  the  shelf  around  the  three  sides  of  the  base 
board  with  Aunt  Lize's  plants,  and  so  make  a  bower 
of  greenery  for  her  and  Twiddie  to  sit  in,  and  for 
Philip  Vanever  and  Dick  Malory  to  see  when  they 
come  by  the  end  of  the  house.  Perhaps  they  will 
smoke  a  corn-cob  pipe  there  with  Uncle  Shim.  I  '11 
make  some  in  readiness. 

To-day  Twiddie  brought  me  up  another  order  that 
fairly  staggers  me.  It  is  from  the  Society,  and  nothing 
less  than  the  carving  of  sixteen  oak  panels,  six  feet  by 
one  and  a  half;  the  designs  to  show  forth  our  New 
England  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and  winter  !  Four 
panels  for  each  season.  Nature  will  have  to  hustle  to 
keep  up  with  me  now. 

Aunt  Lize  has  left  her  work  to  go  down  with 
Twiddie  into  the  hollow  where  the  brook-alders  are 
in  blossom.  They  have  been  gone  two  hours ;  I  hope 
nothing  has  happened,  the  rocks  and  stones  are  so 
wet  and  slippery.  There  they  come  now,  loaded 
with  alders,  dogwood,  and  great  branches  of  cherry 
blooms.  I  see  the  white  stars  from  here ;  they  must 
have  been  up  into  the  woods  beyond  the  Old  Pasture. 

The  SPRING  entered  my  room  with  them  and 
filled  it. 

This  morning  Uncle  Shim  came  in  and  began  to 
move  my  cot  across  the  room. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Uncle  Shim?" 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen         105 

"  Coin'  ter  give  ye  er  breath  er  air.  I  measured 
the  door  'n'  the  cot  yisterd'y  unbeknownst  ter  yew, 
'n'  it  fits  ez  neat  ez  er  thole-pin  — jest  shaves  through. 
See  thar  now !  "  He  was  triumphant,  and  hollered  to 
Aunt  Lize  who  was  sorting  beans  in  the  back  shed : 

"  Lize,  come  here  !  " 

She  came  running  into  the  empty  room  —  Uncle 
Shim  does  n't  often  holler  like  that  —  and  cried  out 
in  a  frightened  voice : 

"Shim,  whar's  Hugh?" 

"  Here  I  am,  Aunt  Lize,  I  can't  run  far  —  "  It  was 
a  dead  failure ;  for  Aunt  Lize  sat  down  suddenly  on 
the  platform  and  began  to  cry  softly  into  her  apron. 
Uncle  Shim  disappeared  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  I  swallowed  lumps  at  the  rate  of  two-forty 
a  minute. 

So  I  'm  out  here  at  last.  I  have  drawn  my  first 
full  free  breath. 

I  never  knew  such  a  last-of-May  morning !  There 
is  not  a  living  thing  on  or  above  the  Mountain  that 
is  not  making  some  kind  of  a  noise.  The  lambs  are 
bleating  in  the  Old  Pasture,  and  the  cattle  lowing 
at  the  bars  —  they  have  just  been  turned  out;  the 
hens  are  chuck-churring  about  the  dung-heap  be 
hind  the  barn ;  even  the  old  sow  is  grunting  because 
she  has  been  let  out  into  the  run. 

I  hear  the  brook  in  the  Hollow,  the  plunge  of  the 
waterfall,  the  wind  drawing  through  the  pines,  the 
drone  of  the  bees  in  the  orchard  which  lies  like  a 
sunrise  cloud  on  the  slope.  The  swallows  are  scream 
ing  like  mad  as  they  turn,  and  wheel,  and  dive  around 
and  over  the  barn ;  the  crows  are  cawing  in  the  forest, 


106       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

robins  calling,  pewees  crying;  now  and  then  a  song- 
sparrow  down  in  the  lilac-hedge  along  the  Pent  Road 
bursts  into  melody. 

Uncle  Shim  is   ploughing  in   the    corn-patch    and 
hollering  to  Prince,  who  is  neighing  like  a  colt;  Aunt 
Lize  is  churning,  and  Tag's  tail  whacks    in  time  to 
every  chug-chug  of  the  dasher.     I  'd  like  to  yell  — 
but  it  would  frighten  Aunt  Lize. 

Another  day  in  the  open.  The  sun  warms,  the  air 
quickens,  but  not  to  work.  It  is  enough  to  be  here, 
and  just  look  and  breathe  and  feel  —  that  part  of  me 
which  can  still  feel.  Curious  !  I  have  never  known 
a  spring  that  intensifies  life  like  the  present  one ;  it  is 
as  if  there  were  sensation  even  in  my  finger-nails,  in 
my  hair — 

Twiddie  is  grubbing  with  might  and  main  for  clem 
atis  and  hop  roots;  Uncle  Shim  has  just  put  out  a 
stout  wild  grape-stock  at  the  entrance  to  the  Pen,  —  I 
call  it  that,  —  and  Aunt  Lize  is  mounted  on  the  step- 
ladder,  staining  the  whole  structure  with  butternut 
juice,  —  a  good  blackish  brown  that  just  matches  the 
weather-stained  timbers  of  the  house. 

How  the  Pen  will  glow  in  due  season  with  its  climb 
ing  nasturtium  and  morning  glories,  with  its  riot  of 
color  in  Aunt  Lize's  geraniums,  begonias,  and  fuchsias, 
—  all  her  house  plants  massed  against  the  greenery 
of  grape  and  hop  and  clematis,  and  set  in  the  black- 
brown  frame  of  the  latticed  porch  ! 

Twiddie  is  wild  with  delight,  running  in  and  out  of 
the  Pen,  and  Aunt  Lize,  who  has  just  finished  the  last 
bit  of  trellis,  is  standing  around  with  her  apron  rolled 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen         107 

over  her  bare  arms  like  an  animated  exclamation- 
point.  She  was  preparing  to  do  her  baking  when  I 
called  to  her  this  morning  to  come  and  help,  and  now 
it  is  four  o'clock  and  we  Ve  stopped  only  for  dinner 
—  a  makeshift  one  —  baked  potatoes  and  cream-pork 
gravy.  I  Ve  never  known  Aunt  Lize  to  omit  her 
Saturday  baking  before. 

7  P.  M. 

Whew !  —  there 's  a  blue  smoke  of  burning  fat 
coming  in  from  the  kitchen ;  Aunt  Lize  is  thumping 
out  doughnuts  in  the  pantry;  Twiddie  is  paring 
apples  for  pies ;  Uncle  Shim  is  down  cellar  fishing 
for  a  piece  of  corned-beef.  I  smell  gingerbread  and 
fresh-baked  cookies. 

"  I  say,  Aunt  Lize,  what  are  you  doing?  " 
"  My  Saturday  bakin' ;  I  hain't  never  missed  one 
onct  sence  I  married  Shimei  Lewis,  'n'  I  ain't  goin' 
ter  begin  now.  I  ben  foolin'  round  all  day,  'n'  all  yer 
fol-de-rols  won't  feed  ye  over  Sunday.  I  'm  goin'  ter 
bile  thet  piece  er  beef  ef  I  set  up  all  night  ter  do  it  — 
Twiddie,  go  down  cellar  'n'  see  what  yer  Uncle  's  up 
ter ;  I  b'lieve  my  soul  he  's  pokin'  round  in  the  salt- 
pork  bar'l ;  tell  him  it 's  in  the  little  keg  'longside  er 
the  pertater  bin." 

This  first  day  of  June  has  brought  me  a  letter,  the 
paper  so  thin  that  it  is  like  the  inner  skin  of  the  young 
white  birch ;  and  the  strange  stamp  !  I  hold  it  to 
the  light,  and  think  how  it  has  travelled  to  me  from 
out  the  Land  of  the  Sun  —  winds,  ocean,  forge,  fur 
nace,  steam,  electricity,  stage-coach,  and  Twiddie's 
willing  feet,  the  bearers  of  this  friend's  greeting. 


io8       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

KIOTO,  May  ist. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

A  word  of  greeting  from  Fuji-san  to  Olympus ! 

I  take  it  for  granted  you  have  read,  the  two  books, 
so  spare  you  any  description  of  this,  after  all  is  said, 
indescribable  country ;  only,  I  want  to  say  to  you 
right  here,  that  if  I  don't  turn  up  in  Farnsfield  by 
August  roth,  —  the  1st  is  the  limit  of  my  Japanese 
trip  —  you  may  telegraph  to  Dick  Malory  to  put  a 
tracer  on  my  track,  and  he  '11  be  apt  to  find  me  among 
the  wood-carvers  of  a  little  village  just  a  few  miles 
north  of  Kioto.  How  I  wish  you  were  with  me ! 
I  Ve  purchased  some  pieces  to  take  home,  and  as  for 
the  workers  in  iron,  and  the  ancient  sword-guards  — 
J  '11  have  to  bring  some  up  to  show  you. 

There  is  one  I  picked  up  for  you  —  of  the  eigh 
teenth  century;  it  is  three  inches  in  diameter,  yet 
It  pictures  a  great  cliff,  full  six  hundred  feet  high,  a 
river  flowing  swiftly  at  its  base  (you  can  see  the  cur 
rent),  a  man  poling  a  boat  against  it,  inshore,  and 
a  tiny  full  moon  of  hammered  silver  the  size  of  a 
small  pea  that  lights  water,  cliff,  and  boatman.  I  've 
seen  nothing  here  more  wonderful  in  art  than  these. 

Did  the  books  arrive  safely?  And  have  my  friends 
made  themselves  agreeable?  And  how  is  the  Wood- 
carver  of  Olympus  himself?  I  fancy,  from  what  you 
wrote  last,  that  you  are  impatient  for  the  fruition 
of  summer;  yet  the  spring  should  yield  you  some 
grist  for  your  mill.  Sometime  I  mean  to  see  it  come 
there  in  that  New  England  of  yours. 

Tell  Twiddie  I  Ve  bought  her  a  kimono,  and  should 
like  to  see  her  with  it  on  come  flying  down  the 
pasture-slope  as  she  came  that  day  last  September. 

My  trip  is  resting  me  by  giving  me  new  interests. 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        109 

For  the  past  three  years  I  have  had  some  rather 
large  affairs  on  my  hands  —  the  trip  to  Ceylon  was  a 
business  one  —  besides  the  settlement  of  my  father's 
estate ;  it  was  well  to  narrow  my  life  for  a  few 
months  to  the  Japanese  dimensions.  But  I  could  n't 
breathe  long  in  this  atmosphere !  Neither  could 
you ;  and  I  'm  going  back  to  my  own  country  with 
increased  respect  for  its  national  and  social  ozone. 
I  am  already  looking  forward  to  August.  Till  then, 
believe  me 

Yours  faithfully, 

PHILIP  VANEVER. 

How  such  a  letter  heartens  !  A  cold  rain  is  falling ; 
the  mountains,  valley,  birch-hill  —  all  blotted  out. 
From  my  window  I  see  only  the  spruce-bush  shining 
gray  with  rain-and-mist-beaded  branches.  The  alders 
are  growing  beneath  my  hand  more  rapidly  than  by 
the  brook  in  the  Hollow. 

With  the  help  of  my  dictionary  I  am  reading  La 
Mare  an  Diable.  I  wonder  if  George  Sand  is  a  woman  ? 
I  should  like  to  know  so  many  things.  He,  or  she, 
says  "the  four-lined  verse"  (that  heads  the  preface) 
"  in  simple  naturalness  is  profoundly  sad." 

I,  too,  should  find  it  so,  had  I  not  had  my  two 
years'  object-lesson  in  enforced  idleness,  and  learned 
by  experience  that  deprivation  of  labor  is  death,  — 
work  only,  life.     I  have  Englished  poorly  the  little 
verse  of  old  French  : 

"In  the  sweat  of  thy  face 
Thou  shalt  earn  thy  scant  bread, 
Toil  and  moil  with  the  race, 
After  —  feast  with  the  dead? 


1 10      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

There  's  Twiddie  coming  home  from  school ;  I  can 
hear  her  singing  —  singing  in  the  rain  like  that  robin 
somewhere  in  the  orchard  yonder.  I  wish  she'd 
choose  something  else,  anything  but  that: 

"'  Change  me,  O  God  !  my  flesh  shall  be 
An  instrument  of  song  to  thee, 
And  thou  the  notes  inspire.'  " 

But  I  know  she  likes  the  tune ;  Aunt  Lize  used  to 
sing  her  to  sleep  with  it 

June  6th. 

Such  a  morning!  Clear,  sunny  sky  with  high 
white  clouds  rising  over  the  timber-belt  and  sailing 
over  the  roof  of  the  house,  across  the  Hollow,  and 
vanishing  behind  the  birch-hill.  Every  grass-blade 
and  leaf  glittering  with  raindrops;  robins,  swallows, 
bluebirds  are  drunk  with  the  joy  of  life. 

While  waiting  for  Uncle  Shim  to  move  my  cot  out 
into  the  Pen,  I  have  been  looking  at  my  David,  and 
thinking  what  George  Sand  said  on  the  next  page  or 
two  of  that  wonderful  preface:  "No,  we  have  not  to 
do  with  death,  but  with  life."  And  a  little  farther  on, 
it  is  said  of  the  true  artist:  "  His  aim  ought  to  be  to 
make  people  love  the  objects  of  his  solicitude,  and, 
upon  occasion,  I  should  not  reproach  him  for  embel 
lishing  them  a  little.  — Art  is  not  a  study  of  positive 
reality,  but  the  search  for  ideal  truth." 

I,  even  I,  Hugh  Armstrong,  such  as  I  am,  can 
understand  that.  I  have  looked  at  my  Shepherd 
David,  and  it  has  been  revealed  to  me  by  something 
not  of  the  marble,  but  in  it.  Something,  too,  is  being 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        1 1 1 

cut  into  my  alders  and  dogwood,  that  shows  the  mount 
ing  spring  joy  in  every  living  thing;  —  it  does  not 
detract  from  the  truth  of  reality,  it  but  enhances  it. 
If—  if- 

"Ye  ready,  Hughie?" 

"  Uncle  Shim,  can't  we  get  the  work-bench  out 
into  the  Pen?" 

"  Jest  ez  ye  say,  Hughie ;  I  '11  have  ter  git  Lize  ter 
help  h'ist  it  through  the  door." 

"  Where  is  Aunt  Lize?  " 

"  Makin'  scarecrows  fer  the  corn-patch ;  the  corn  's 
jest  prickin'  through,  'n'  them  thieves  hez  their  weather- 
eye  open  every  time,  —  durn  'em." 

I  like  to  see  Uncle  Shim  cross,  he  is  so  shiftless 
about  it ;  his  "  durn  'em  "  would  n't  scare  a  one-eyed 
crow. 

I  work  daily  now  in  the  Pen,  while  this  settled  June 
weather  lasts.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  hear  things 
grow;  there  is  such  a  thrusting,  pushing,  upreaching, 
unfolding,  expanding  process  going  on  about  me. 
The  new  pine  tops  grow  green,  green,  greener ;  the 
new  spruce  tips  thick,  thick,  thicker ;  the  corn-stalks 
high,  high,  higher;  the  tasselled  birch  on  the  oak 
panel  more  and  more  satisfactory  —  but  in  the  midst 
of  it  all,  I  smell  the  spruces  in  the  sun,  and  something 
grips  me  at  thought  of  the  little  fir  tree  and  the  "  story 
that  is  past."  Perhaps  I  Ve  thought  more  of  it  be 
cause  Twiddie's  teacher  is  coming  up  the  Mountain 
to  stay  over  Sunday  with  us.  Aunt  Lize  asked  me  if 
I  minded.  At  first  I  felt  like  begging  off,  but  the 
look  on  Twiddie's  face  warned  me  in  time.  It 's  the 
first  time  I  've  had  to  face  a  girl  since  this  happened. 


112       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

I  dread  her  coming;  I  dread  to  see  a  girl  anyway. 
Sometimes  I  wish,  almost,  I  had  n't  read  The  Devils 
Pool — I  fear  to  be  bedevilled,  for  it's  the  flood  life- 
tide  of  the  year,  and  I  'm  human. 

Monday. 

I  need  n't  have  been  such  a  coward  !  I  'm  glad  she 
came,  and  I  hope  she  '11  come  again.  She  's  a  quiet 
girl,  wears  eye-glasses ;  she  was  graduated  from  the 
Academy  last  year.  She  says  Twiddie  is  the  smartest 
thild  in  the  school.  She  did  n't  seem  to  notice  my 
legs,  or  act  as  if  anything  was  the  matter  with  me. 

Twiddie  and  I  have  struck  a  bargain.  She  asked 
me  the  other  day  if  I  would  n't  teach  her  French ; 
-  French  and  Twiddie !  I  never  thought  of  that 
combination. 

"Why,  Twiddie?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  'coz." 

"  Now,  Twiddie,  tell  me  why." 

"You  won't  tell?" 

"  Never ;   here  's  my  hand  on  it." 

She  took  it,  straightened  out  each  of  my  long  fin 
gers,  crooked  them  again,  then  doubled  my  fist  and 
suddenly  squeezed  it  between  her  hands.  She  looked 
at  me  with  shining  eyes,  and  a  rich  red  was  in  her 
cheeks. 

"  'Coz  "  ("  Because,  Twiddie,")  "  because  I  'm  goin' 
off  some  day." 

"  Off  where  ?  To  the  Canuck  country  where  Tough- 
heel  came  from?" 

"  Stop    teasin',    Hughie."     She   turned    away  with 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        113 

a  pout — positively,  Twiddie  is  growing  pretty.  I 
caught  her  hand,  and  tried  to-  pull  her  down  beside 
me,  but  she  drew  back,  and,  pointing  over  to  the 
mountains,  said  earnestly: 

"  Over  there,  Hughie,  to  see  the  places  I  read 
about  in  Hans  Andersen  and  Little  Women,  where 
Amy  went ;  I  make  b'lieve  I  go  every  night,  V  now 
the  folks  are  beginning  to  come  again  in  the  stage 
from  Alderbury,  it  seems  real.  I  wait  after  school 
every  day  now,  V  make  b'lieve  I  'm  goin'  off  in  the 
stage; — don't  you  remember  'bout  the  princess  in 
Hans  Andersen  ?  'n'  how  Amy  'n'  her  folks  talked 
French  over  there?  — "  she  pointed  again  beyond 
the  mountains  —  "  in  Europe,  you  know.  I  want  to 
learn  ;  Jo  did  n't,  but  she  was  awful  sorry  afterwards. 
Won't  you  learn  me,  Hughie?  " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  teach  you,  Twiddie,  if  you  '11  learn  to 
speak  English  first  —  yes,  I  know  you've  tried; 
you  're  doing  well  too.  Now,  that 's  a  fair  trade, 
isn't  it?" 

"  You  don't  think  Aunt  Lize  would  mind,  Hughie, 
if  I  speak  different  from  her?  " 

"  Bless  your  heart,  no,  Twiddie ;  only,  you  're  never 
to  notice  how  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  speak. 
Ladies  never  do  that,  and  I  take  it  that  is  what 
you  're  going  to  try  to  be  —  like  Jo  and  Amy  ?  "  She 
nodded  emphatically. 

"Well,  then,  Lady  Twiddie  —  "  But  she  inter 
rupted  me : 

"Lady  Theodora,  Hughie;  that's  what  I  make 
b'lieve."  I  humored  her. 

"  Lady  Theodora  then,  let 's  begin  to-night.  I  '11 

8 


114      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

give  you  a  French  verb  to  learn,  and  you  stop  saying 
'  learn  '  for  teach,  and  '  ter '  for  to,  and  don't  drop 
your  '  g's,'  and  don't  say  '  'coz  '  and  —  " 

"  I  '11  try  to,  Hughie,"  she  interrupted,  laughing 
merrily,  "but  'tis  n't  fair  to  make  me  do  all  that 
fer"  ("  For,  Twiddie,")  "  for  jest —  I  mean  just,  —  one 
verb." 

"  No  more  it  is  n't,  Lady  Theodora."  Hearing 
that,  she  grew  so  radiant  that  I  was  minded  to  gaze 
after  her  as  she  ran  out  of  the  Pen  and  around  the 
house,  Tag  barking  at  her  bare  heels.  How  she 
is  shooting  up  !  As  slim  as  a  willow-shoot.  She  's 
getting  too  big  to  run  barefoot  like  that  and  swing 
on  the  butternut  tree  when  the  stage  goes  by.  I 
must  speak  to  Aunt  Lize  about  it. 

The  four  spring  panels  were  sent  to  the  Society 
last  week.  I  wonder  whose  they  are  to  be?  I  'm 
behindhand  with  my  work;  there  are  the  two  fire 
places  for  November. 

I  have  had  word  to-day  that  I  need  send  no  more 
designs  on  approval ;  this  leaves  me  free  hand  and 
eases  me  up  a  bit. 

Aunt  Lize  and  Twiddie  are  off  to  a  swamp  down 
the  Pent  Road,  Gilead  way;  it  lies  in  the  corner  of  a 
pasture  where  the  brook  leaves  the  Hollow,  and  some 
back  water  sets  in  there.  I  told  them  they  would 
find  it  by  the  two  black  ash  trees  that  grow  by  the 
fence.  The  great  blue-flag  is  found  there  three  and 
four  feet  high.  I  was  bound  to  get  my  swamp 
somehow  into  the  panels,  —  this  design  will  fill  one 
nobly. 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        1 1 5 

The  wheat  in  the  roadside-field  by  Farnsfield  will 
come  later,  and  August  will  bring  the  larger  brakes 
and  the  Canada  thistles.  So,  in  time,  I  shall  manage 
to  have  them  all  for  the  panels  —  swamp  and  moun 
tain-slope,  roadside-field  and  thicket.  Who,  who  is 
to  see  it  all  ?  It  is  getting  to  be  a  labor  of  love.  I 
shall  make  bold  when  I  shall  have  finished  the  sixteen 
panels  to  ask  the  Society ;  they  have  given  me  until 
February. 

July  4th. 

I  sent  down  by  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle  to  bring  up  some 
torpedoes  and  fire-crackers  for  Twiddie  to  celebrate 
-  for  me,  too.  I  love  it  —  have  always  loved  it. 
After  I  was  a  youngster  of  five,  Uncle  Shim  and 
Aunt  Lize  always  made  a  bonfire  on  the  Mountain 
for  me ;  folks  used  to  say  they  could  see  its  light  for 
miles.  I  Ve  asked  them  to  make  one  to-night.  Uncle 
Shim  has  fastened  grandfather's  old  flag  to  the  post 
of  the  Pen.  —  I  wish  I  could  have  voted  once  for 
president;  I  should  feel  more  of  a  man  for  having 
done  so.  An  American,  his  mark ;  that 's  what  an 
honest  presidential  vote  should  be  to  a  man. 

July  i8th. 

Something  was  in  the  wind ;  I  knew  it  as  I  sat 
working  in  the  Pen.  I  heard  Tag  barking  furiously, 
and  Twiddie  hoo-hooing  wildly  from  the  clearing ;  in 
a  minute  the  two  came  racing  around  the  corner  of 
the  house.  Twiddie  flung  herself  full-length  on  the 
grass  before  the  Pen,  and  Tag  flopped,  panting, 
beside  her.  I  waited  till  she  should  get  her 
breath. 


1 1 6      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

The  shadows  were  growing  long  and  I  laid  aside 
my  tools ;  I  had  been  at  work  all  day  like  a  beaver 
with  my  chips.  The  Pen  is  looking  as  I  hoped  it 
might;  hops  and  clematis  are  flourishing,  and  nas 
turtiums  and  morning-glories  are  in  full  bloom.  It 
is  good  to  see  Aunt  Lize's  joy  in  it. 

Finally,  Twiddie  sat  up  facing  me,  her  knees  drawn 
up  to  her  chin,  her  hands  clasping  them. 

"  It's  all  coming  true,  Hughie,"  she  said  dreamily. 

"What!     More  folks?" 

She  nodded.     "  Real  ones  this  time,  though." 

"  Tell  me  about  them,  Twiddie." 

"  I  will  if  you  '11  b'lieve  me,  Hughie." 

"  Believe  you  !  Every  word.  Did  n't  your  letters 
come  true?"  She  gave  me  a  grateful  look.  Sud 
denly,  at  some  thought,  her  face  grew  scarlet  and  she 
hung  her  head. 

"  I  disobeyed  you  and  Aunt  Lize."  I  could 
scarcely  hear  her. 

"  Come,  speak  up,  Twiddie  ;   out  with  it." 

"  You  won't  be  mad,  Hughie?  " 

"I?  —  no;  what  should  I  be  mad  about?" 

"  I  'd  took  off  my  shoes  'n'  stockings  —  I  hate  'em 
so  !  I  only  wear  'em  to  please  you  'n'  Aunt  Lize  — 
'n'  was  swinging  on  the  butternut  tree  waiting  for  the 
stage." 

"  Oh,  Twiddie,  they  did  n't  see  you  up  there  with 
your  long,  bare  legs !  " 

She  nodded,  but  looked  so  shamefacedly  penitent 
that  I  had  to  laugh.  At  that  she  brightened  up  a 
bit.  "  Yes,  I  was,  'n'  they  look  different  than  they 
did,  'coz,  ye  see  "  (in  her  excitement  her  Englisb  was 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        117 

going  all  to  the  dogs,  but  I  did  n't  correct  her,  think 
ing  the  story  was  of  more  importance),  "  I  hain't  gone 
barefoot  for  so  long  thet  the  tan  hez  come  off  V  left 
'em  awful  white,  'n'  Uncle  Jo  's  got  er  new  leader, 
V  I  never  thought  'bout  my  legs  swingin'  so  fast  'n' 
they  bein'  so  white,  'n'  all  of  er  sudden,  when  the  new 
leader  see  'em,  jest  ez  Uncle  Jo  reined  up  under  the 
tree,  he  give  sech  er  jump  thet  he  went  clean  over 
the  traces,  'n'  Uncle  Jo  hollered  at  me  awful,  'n'  all 
the  ladies — " 

"What— ladies?" 

"  Yes,  ladies,  real  ones,  this  time.  They  called  ter 
me  ter  git  down,  'n'  I  dropped  right  off  the  tree  'thout 
stopping  to  swing  down  by  my  hands,  'n'  fell  in  the 
grass,  'n'  one  on  'em  said  I  must  be  hurt,  'n'  they  all 
got  out  while  Uncle  Jo  wuz  fixin'  the  leader,  'n'  —  Oh, 
Hughie  !  ef  ye  could  jest  see  her  !  " 

"Her  — who?" 

"  The  one  thet  thought  I  wuz  hurt  —  but  I  wus  rt't. 
She  saw  the  box,  too,  'n'  asked  who  made  it?  *n'  I 
told  'bout  the  things  ye  make.  They  all  talk  so  dif 
ferent,  Hughie,  more  like  you  do,  'n'  she  —  " 

"Who,  Twiddle?" 

"  The  one  thet  said  it  wuz  charmin',  'n'  'nother 
said  it  wuz  'n  idea  —  no,  't  warn't  thet  —  " 

"Ideal?" 

"  Yes,  thet 's  it,  'n'  one  er  the  gentlemen  —  " 

"  Gentlemen,  Twiddle,  and  you  in  your  bare  legs  !  " 

"  I  never  '11  do  it  again,  Hughie,  never  —  but  they 
did  n't  seem  to  mind,  'coz  I  squatted  on  the  ground 
'n'  tried  ter  hide  'em.  They  jest  talked  'bout  the 
scen'ry,  'n'  one  on  'em  said  it  made  him  think  of — 


1 1 8       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

of — I  can't  remember  where  'twuz;  'n'  one  on  'em 
gave  Uncle  Jo  er  cigar  'n'  they  all  lighted  theirs,  but 
first  they  asked  the  ladies  if  they  might,  —  think  er 
thet,  Hughie  !  jest  ez  ef  they  wuz  princesses,  'n'  all 
the  rest  wuz  swineherds  jest  like  in  Hans  Andersen, 
ye  know." 

"  What  did  the  ladies  say?  " 

"  Oh,  they  wuz  willin' ;  they  said  they  'd  ride  inside 
'n'  leave  'em  the  top  all  ter  themselves,  'n'  one  er  the 
gentlemen  —  the  one  thet  give  Uncle  Jo  the  cigar  — 
came  up  ter  where  the  ladies  wuz  all  stan'in'  'bout  me, 
'n'  said,  '  Come,  Madeline,  give  me  a  chance  ter  look 
at  thet  box,'  'n'  then  he  see  me  close  to,  'n'  took  off 
his  hat,  Hughie !  —  his  hat,  quick,  so  quick,  'n' 
laughed  and  said,  '  By  Jove,  it 's  Twiddle !  '  'n'  held 
out  his  hand ;  'n'  I  wuz  'shamed,  'n'  'fraid  he  'd  pull 
me  up,  'n'  I  did  n't  want  him  ter  see  me  bare-legged, 
so  I  jest  squatted  harder,  'n'  made  b'lieve  I  did  n't  sec 
him." 

"  Oh,  Twiddie  !  " 

"'N'  then  they  all  laughed,  'n'  he  put  his  hand  under 
my  chin  and  made  me  look  up,  'n'  said,  '  Is  n't  this 
Miss  Twiddie  Lewis,  who  sent  me  the  spruce  gum  ? ' 
•n'  — 'n'  — Oh,  Hughie!—" 

I  saw  her  chest  begin  to  heave,  and  I  felt  for  the 
child.  "What  did  you  say,  Twiddie?" 

"  I  said  I  wuz  «'/." 

"  Why,  Twiddie  Lewis !  What  will  Aunt  Lize 
say?" 

She  sprang  up,  and  I  saw  her  set  her  teeth  in  brave 
effort  to  keep  back  the  tears ;  then  suddenly  the 
scarlet  flame  leaped  upon  her  throat  and  ran  over 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen         119 

neck,  face,  temples  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and  she 
cried  out  shrilly,  stamping  her  foot  : 

"I  didn't  lie!  I  ain't  Twiddie  Lewis  —  I  ain't,  I 
ain't  !  I  heard  you  'n'  Aunt  Lize  talkin'  thet  night 
ye  thought  I  wuz  ter  sleep  —  I  'm  Theodora  Some 
body,  'n'  ye  don't  know  who,  'n'  Aunt  Lize,  nor  Uncle 
Shim,  nor  nobody  knows  who,  'n'  teacher  licked  er 
boy  fer  twittin'  me  of  it  last  week  —  'n'  I  ain't  er- 
goin'  ter  school  any  more,  'n'  I  ain't  er-goin'  down  ter 
see  the  stage  — 

She  was  sobbing  uncontrollably,  and  I  do  hate  a 
scene. 

"  Twiddie,  come  here."  But  she  flung  herself  down 
upon  the  grass  again  full-length  and  sobbed  face 
downwards  into  it.  Tag  whined  and  nosed  her.  I 
thought,  after  all,  it  was  better  to  let  her  have  her  cry 
out.  Poor  little  Twiddie  !  I  'm  the  shut-in  and  she  's 
the  shut-out;  —  which  is  worse?  I'd  like  to  thrash 
that  boy  within  an  inch  of  his  life. 


July 

She  cried  herself  out  yesterday  afternoon,  and 
then  I  sent  her  down  into  the  Hollow  to  get  some 
ferns,  and  to  wash  her  face  in  the  cold  water  of  the 
pool. 

After  supper,  while  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim 
were  salting  the  sheep  in  the  Old  Pasture,  she  sat  on 
the  cot  beside  me  —  we  were  out  in  the  Pen  —  and  we 
talked  together  (it  did  us  both  good)  —  I  the  shut-in, 
a  man  who  has  known  suffering  for  two  years,  and 
must  live  with  it  the  rest  of  his  life,  to  a  child  —  hardly 
a  child  any  longer  —  the  shut-out,  who  is  just  enter- 


1 20      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

ing  into  the  same  heritage  of  suffering,  only  with  a 
difference. 


Yes,  it  must  have  been  Dick  Malory.  I  wish  he 
had  n't  passed  me  by.  I  asked  Twiddic  if  he  replied 
to  her,  and  she  said  he  did  not,  but  that  he  turned 
away  and  got  up  on  the  seat  beside  Uncle  Jo,  and 
she  heard  him  ask  him  something,  and  Uncle  Jo  said, 
"Yes,  thet 's  her,  thet's  Twiddle;  "  and  she  had  not 
dared  to  look  up  again,  nor  to  get  up  in  order  to  run 
away,  because  of  her  bare  legs;  so  sat  there  in  her 
shame  and  misery  till  the  stage  had  disappeared.  I 
am  glad  school  is  over.  She  is  trying  so  hard  with  the 
English,  and  takes  to  French  like  a  duck  to  water. 

July  zoth. 

Twiddie  came  rushing  in  early  this  afternoon  with  a 
letter,  the  one  I  had  been  looking  for  from  the  Soci 
ety  fgr  a  week  past.  I  had  proved  to  her  that  all  her 
trouble  came  to  her  the  other  day  through  her  diso 
bedience,  —  and  the  bare  legs.  She  was  sensible 
enough,  and  offered  to  go  down  as  usual  for  the  mail. 
Now  she  has  come  back  with  the  astounding  announce 
ment  that  they  are  all  coming  up  here  to-morrow, 
Uncle  Jo  says,  and  we  must  be  ready  for  them ;  — 
coming  up  Gilead  way  to  see  the  view,  and  so  on 
through  the  clearing  and  down  over  the  Mountain, 
and  back  to  Alderbury! 

This  thing  has  never  happened  before.  They  have 
chartered  the  Hornet,  and  Uncle  Jo  is  to  drive ;  Silas 
Strong  is  to  take  his  place  for  the  day,  and  carry  the 
mail  and  passengers  in  the  big,  three-seated  wagon. 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        121 

To  see  the  Hornet  again  !  To  hear  the  horn !  To 
see  people  from  that  other  world  —  to  touch  Life 
again  in  its  fulness  to  others,  real  men,  real  women ! 
My  hand  shakes ;  I  can't  work.  I  am  as  excited  as 
Aunt  Lize  and  Twiddie,  but  I  keep  it  under,  and,  as 
a  result,  am  less  useful. 

We  have  been  concocting  ways  and  means.  It 's 
my  house,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  act  the  coward  this 
time.  Aunt  Lize  says  they  ought  to  have  a  treat, 
and  I  say  so  too ;  a  steep  climb  of  five  miles  from 
Gilead  on  a  hot  July  day  is  no  fool  of  a  job  for  man 
or  beast. 

Uncle  Jo  asked  Twiddie  to  come  down  and  open 
the  first  bars  below  the  house ;  it 's  no  place  to  stop, 
for  there  's  a  bad  pitch  there ;  —  and  then  she  is  to 
ride  up  on  the  rack  for  a  treat. 

She  and  Aunt  Lize  are  out  picking  late  wood- 
strawberries  ;  the  ground,  they  say,  is  covered  with 
them  up  near  the  timber  line;  there  is  plenty  of 
cream,  and  Aunt  Lize  is  going  to  make  some  of  her 
soft,  sugar  cookies.  I  'm  glad  we  can  have  all  the 
white  sugar  we  need.  Twiddie  has  swept  the  Pen  as 
clean  as  a  whistle,  and  I  'm  going  to  stay  inside  and 
leave  it  clear  for  them  to  sit  in  and  eat  their  straw 
berries  ;  the  sun  turns  early,  and  the  shade  in  the 
south  dooryard  is  deep. 

July  zist. 

Oh,  the  horn  !  Uncle  Jo  never  blew  such  a  blast 
before,  and  never  will  again.  How  it  rang  among  the 
heights,  repeating  itself  for  full  twenty  seconds,  the 


122      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

last  faint  echo  seeming  to  die  away  somewhere  near 
Killington  and  Pico ;  at  the  sound,  every  fibre  of  me 
thrilled  with  sick,  excited  longing. 

I  could  see  the  old  Hornet  from  the  south  window, 
the  horses  straining  to  that  last  pitch,  and  Twiddie  at 
the  bars  ;  the  men  were  walking  up  ;  I  saw  the  move 
ment  of  the  green  and  white  parasols  of  the  women 
on  top.  As  they  drew  nearer,  I  heard  them  talking 
—  the  sound  carries  at  this  height  —  and  exclaim  at 
the  view,  and  at  last  cry  out  when  they  caught  sight 
of  the  Pen  and  all  its  glowing  mass  of  color.  They 
were  within  a  few  hundred  feet  of  the  house  when  I 
caught  the  words  from  Uncle  Jo : 

"Yes,  thet 's  Hughie's  work;  purty  good  fer  er 
cripple,  hey?" 

Then  a  woman's  voice  —  such  a  voice  !  do  women 
of  that  other  world  yonder  often  have  such  voices?  — 

"I  wonder  if  he  has  a  soul  commensurate  with 
such  beautiful  expression?" 

Dick  Malory — I  knew  it  was  he  —  came  into  the 
yard  first,  where  Aunt  Lize  was  standing  in  the  shade, 
and,  behold  !  Twiddle  was  with  him,  laughing  glee 
fully.  And  then  Uncle  Jo  pulled  up,  and  called  out: 

"Where's  Hughie?  we've  come  ter  see  Hughie," 
and  Twiddie  answered  joyfully: 

"  In  here,"  and  brought  him  in,  while  Uncle  Shim 
tended  to  the  horses  and  the  men  helped  the  ladies 
down  from  the  top  —  four  of  them,  gay,  bright,  smil 
ing  women.  They  were  chatting  with  Aunt  Lize  as 
if  they  had  always  known  her,  and  all  the  time  Uncle 
Jo  was  talking,  my  ears  were  strained  to  catch  that 
voice.  Now  and  then  I  heard  it  —  Aunt  Lize  was 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        123 

asking  them  where  they  came  from,  how  they  got 
here,  how  long  they  were  going  to  stay ;  she  was  in 
her  glory,  but  I  was  sorry,  knowing  they  came  from 
that  other  world  which  is  unused  to  ours  of  the 
Mountain. 

Somehow,  within  a  few  minutes,  —  I  don't  know 
bow  it  came  about,  —  the  other  three  men  were  all  in 
with  me,  and  Dick  Malory  was  gripping  my  hand, 
and  telling  me  of  his  friendship  with  Philip  Vanever. 
He  's  my  age  nearly ;  but  I  felt,  as  I  looked  at  him 
and  heard  him  praise  my  friend,  of  another  and  an 
older  generation.  But  the  blue  eyes,  the  hearty  way 
with  him,  the  straight  back,  square  shoulders,  and 
clean  length  of  shank !  He  was  good  to  look  upon 
as  a  man. 

Then  Uncle  Shim  came  in  and  gave  me  away,  say 
ing:  "  Ye  don't  seem  ter  be  in  yer  right  place  here, 
Hughie ;  the  Pen  looks  kinder  lonesome  'thout  ye." 

"  But,  Uncle  Shim,  we  plarmed  to  have  the  ladies 
cat  in  there,  you  know." 

For  answer,  Dick  Malory  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
cot  to  help  Uncle  Shim  move  me  out,  and,  looking 
to  the  deep  shade  of  the  elms  and  maples  in  the 
dooryard,  I  saw  her  for  the  first  time.  She  was 
helping  Twiddie  set  out  the  old,  two-leaved  cherry 
table  with  saucers  and  the  best  spoons,  the  glass 
jug  of  cream,  and  my  grandmother's  willow-tree  bowl 
of  blue  crockery  heaped  to  the  brim  with  the  wood- 
strawberries.  Twiddie  was  setting  on  a  plate  of  the 
sugar  cookies  when  Aunt  Lize  said : 

"  Git  the  six-quart  pail,  Twiddie,  'n'  go  down  ter 
the  spring  fer  some  good  cold  water." 


1 24      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Hearing  that,  Dick  Malory  called  out:  "  Madeline, 
come  here,  and  keep  Mr.  Armstrong  company.  This 
is  my  cousin,  Miss  Cope,"  he  said,  as  she  came  into 
the  Pen ;  "  I  'm  going  with  Miss  Twiddie  to  the 
spring,"  and  he  was  off  with  a  bound  that  I,  too, 
knew  of  old. 

July  22nd,  4  A.  M. 

It  is  light,  but  the  sun  is  not  yet  over  the  moun 
tains  ;  it  will  rise  to-day  for  me  out  of  a  new  heaven 
upon  a  new  earth.  I  am  still  here  in  the  Pen ; 
the  night  was  so  hot  I  stayed  out  for  air.  I  could  n't 
sleep,  and  have  been  watching  for  the  dawn. 

She  is  so  different  from  the  others;  even  I,  unused 
as  I  am  to  many  women,  can  see  that.  She  is  neither 
a  shut-in  nor  a  shut-out,  but  carries  her  head  in  a 
free,  glad,  uplifted  way,  like  a  red  deer  breaking  from 
cover  at  sunrise.  When  she  spoke,  she  was  the 
voice ;  when  she  looked,  the  eyes  spoke  for  her, 
and  when  she  smiled,  the  face  grew  radiant,  like  the 
eastern  horizon  as  I  write.  What  is  it  that  illumines 
a  human  face  like  that? 

She  is  tall,  too;  I  calculated  swiftly  as  she  stooped 
to  enter  the  Pen,  that  the  dark  head  would  come  a 
good  bit  above  my  shoulder,  and  I  am  six  foot  one. 

How  interested  she  was  in  the  work !  The  others 
exclaimed  over  the  summer  panels  I  have  finished ; 
she  said  never  a  word,  but  just  came  back  to  them 
again  and  again,  as  if  she  could  not  look  her  fill. 
Twiddie  took  her  in  to  see  the  David ;  "  An  old 
friend  of  mine," .she  told  me  afterwards;  —  and  there 
on  the  shelf  she  found  the  books,  and  lingered  within, 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        125 

handling  them ;  and  I  knew  by  her  manner  with  them 
that  she,  too,  cared  as  I  care.  I  wish  I  might  have 
talked  with  her  of  them.  But  the  time  sped ;  there 
was  the  Hollow  to  see,  and  the  sheep  and  lambs  in 
the  Old  Pasture,  and  the  north  path  through  the  for 
est-belt —  a  trail  I  blazed  four  years  ago  when  I  went 
into  the  woods  with  Toughheel ;  it  is  green  twilight 
there  even  in  the  brightest  summer  day.  Then 
Twiddie  must  needs  beg  Aunt  Lize  to  let  her  show 
them  the  garret  — her  play-room  —  with  the  loom 
and  cheese-press,  the  wheels  and  reels ;  and  of  that 
neither  Dick  Malory  nor  she  could  have  enough. 

While  they  were  rummaging  about,  I  was  left  with 
the  old  yellow  Hornet  for  company.  Uncle  Shim 
had  taken  out  the  four  horses  to  bait  and  water,  and 
he  and  Uncle  Jo  were  smoking  in  the  cart-shed.  —  I 
have  seen  it  standing  like  that  so  many  times  before 
the  tavern  at  Alderbury;  but  then  it  was  empty. 
Now,  as  I  looked,  it  was  filled  with  memories  of  my 
boyhood ;  inside,  outside,  baggage-rack,  driver's  seat 
-  everything  taken  by  a  tow-haired,  barefooted  boy, 
who  used  to  watch  for  its  coming  down  by  the  butter 
nut  tree,  and  dream  of  the  time  when  it  should  take 
him  away  from  the  Mountain  and  its  pent  life. 

They  were  with  us  three  hours.  When  they  left, 
Dick  Malory  said  he  would  blow  the  horn  once  in 
the  clearing,  and  two  or  three  times  down  the  Pent 
Road.  I  strained  my  ears  the  last  time  —  they  were 
at  the  butternut  tree,  so  Twiddie  told  me  afterwards; 
she  had  ridden  down  with  them — and  as  I  caught  the 
last  echo,  a  longing  came  upon  me  unlike  anything  I 
have  ever  felt. 


i  26       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

But  I  have  touched  her  hand.  She  came  the  last  to 
me  to  say  good-by.  I  was  awkward  enough,  for  I 
not  only  clasped  the  hand  held  out  to  me,  but,  having 
it  once  within  my  palm,  looked  long  at  the  slim,  white 
fingers,  that  could  give  pressure  for  pressure  —  at  the 
nails,  the  markings,  and  wondered  at  the  delicate 
strength.  When  I  looked  up,  a  light  red  had  mounted 
into  the  clear  white  of  her  cheek;  but  she  smiled 
down  upon  me  so  womanly-kindly  !  — she  is  no  longer 
a  girl,  but  a  woman  of  Philip  Vanever's  age,  with  a 
young  grace  of  figure,  and  a  child's  heart  shining  out 
of  her  dark  eyes.  —  To  work,  to  work  ! 

August  ist. 

How  full  my  life  is  —  of  summer,  of  work,  of 
thoughts,  of  friends. 

August  6th. 

Aunt  Lize  says  that  Dick  Malory  told  her  that  they 
were  on  a  coaching  trip  through  the  Green  Moun 
tains,  and  had  been  stopping  at  Wynnegate  Inn  for 
a  week ;  that  he  had  proposed  that  they  charter  the 
Hornet  for  a  two  days'  trip  over  the  Mountain  and 
take  in  Olympus  on  the  way.  Philip  Vanever  had 
told  him  about  the  views ;  and,  moreover,  he  wanted 
to  thank  me  for  the  fireplace  carvings.  So  she  is  his 
cousin. 

A  hot  haze  covers  the  mountains  and  the  valley, 
limiting  the  range  of  vision  ;  but  the  inner  eye's  hori 
zon  line  has  widened  since  July. 

Madeline,  Madeline  Cope;  I  say  it  softly  to  myself 
while  at  work,  and  when  Aunt  Lize  and  Twiddie  are 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen         1 27 

up  in  the  pasture  picking  blackberries,  and  the  house 
is  empty  save  for  the  buzzing  of  a  blue-bottle,  I  speak 
it  aloud,  and  the  sound  of  my  own  voice  lingering  on 
the  name  soothes  for  a  time,  then  inspires  me  to  new 
effort.  Why,  I  cannot  say. 

I  feel  as  if  all  the  world  had  come  to  my  door  that 
day.  There  was  one  among  them,  a  professor  — 
Waldort,  if  I  caught  the  name  —  from  one  of  the  great 
California  universities ;  as  tall  as  I,  fair-haired,  ruddy- 
skinned,  blue-eyed —  a  geologist.  I  liked  the  man 
and  had  the  curiosity  to  ask  him  how  he  had  found 
his  way  to  our  mountain-corner  of  New  England; 
and  I  liked  his  answer: 

"  I  have  found  that  a  man  who  travels  on  a  trunk 
line  does  not  know  the  American  people,  and  I  have 
learned  that  it  is  not 'in  the  highways,  but  in  the  by 
ways,  one  gets  beneath  the  surface ;  that  is  why  I 
have  found  out  this  New  England  corner  of  yours." 

That  was  two  weeks  ago.  Yesterday  I  had  a  lettei 
from  him  ;  —  what  am  I  that  all  this  should  come  to  me  ? 
I,  who  have  cursed  God,  and  man  in  his  likeness? 

I  like  to  think  of  filling  these  pages,  that  have  been 
a  reflection  of  my  own  life,  with  the  thoughts  of 
others  as  they  express  themselves  to  me  in  these  rare 
letters  that  find  their  way  up  here.  It's  pleasant 
reading,  and  lets  in  daylight. 

OAKLAND,  CALIFORNIA,  August  5th. 
DEAR  ARMSTRONG, 

I  am  sending  you  a  box  of  books  that,  I  hope, 
will  compel  you  to  think  oftener  of  me  than  would 


128      The  Wood-carver  cf 'Lympus 

otherwise  be  the  case.  You  know  I  am  your  debtor 
for  an  Olympian  hour  or  two  on  that  perfect  mid 
summer  day. 

I  'm  still  pig-headed  enough  at  thirty-six  to  believe 
that  every  new  man  I  meet — and  like  —  is  just  as 
interested  in  the  rock-ribs  and  outcrops  and  vein- 
ings  of  this  earth-mother  of  ours  as  I  am  —  forget 
ting  that  all  men  were  not  born  in  the  "  diggings"; 
for  I  am  a  miner's  son,  a  Californian  by  birth,  and  have 
had  among  other  things  "  stones  for  bread."  Your 
trade  is  akin  to  mine ;  your  trees  break  rock  in 
the  subsoil ;  —  hence  the  kind  of  books  I  have  sent 
you. 

Will  you  remember  me  to  all  your  people?  and 
say  to  Mrs.  Lewis,  please,  that  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  this  big,  Nature's  prodigal  of  a  state 
of  ours,  there  are  no  strawberries  that  can  compare  in 
flavor  with  those  delicate  wood  waifs  to  which  I  paid 
natural  homage  that  day. 

Across  continent  greetings  from, 

Yours  sincerely, 

FRANZ  WALDORT. 

They  went  down  for  the  box  after  chores  were 
finished,  and  on  their  return  brought  the  whole  round 
earth  into  my  room  and  my  life. 

There  they  lie  on  the  bench,  —  six  noble  volumes 
of  Elisee  Reclus's  geographical  works,  and  two  of  the 
professor's  on  the  mineralogy  of  the  Pacific  Slope. 
Strange  !  He,  a  breaker  of  stones,  to  me,  a  whittler 
in  wood. 

Oh,  the  world  beyond  my  Mountain  is  not  so  wide 
after  all !  And  what  a  world  it  is  ! 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        129 

September  iSth. 

I  was  interrupted  in  my  last  entry  by  a  voice  an 
swering  Twiddle's  joyful  outcry  —  Philip  Vanever's  ! 

A  month  has  passed  since  then.  What  a  month  ! 
He  was  with  me  as  guest  in  my  own  house  for  a  week, 
and  the  close  companionship  of  such  a  man  has  been 
a  revelation;  we  are  Hugh  and  Philip  for  each  other 
now. 

It  came  about  in  the  silences  of  the  night,  when  the 
smoke  from  our  corn-cob  pipes  curled  about  the 
roof-timbers  of  the  Pen,  the  moon  rose  behind  Kil- 
lington,  and  the  valley  in  the  August  haze  looked,  so 
he  told  me,  like  a  southern  sea. 

It  came  in  the  brief  speech  of  the  morning,  when 
the  Pen  opened  its  flowers  to  the  kindling  eastern 
light,  and  the  dew  lay  heavy  on  grass  and  corn.  We 
had  our  breakfast  together  on  the  bench  in  the  Pen, 
—  blackberries  and  cream,  coffee  and  Aunt  Lize's 
good  Johnny-cake,  and  for  a  top-off,  buckwheat  flap 
jacks  and  maple  syrup. 

It  came  in  the  hot  noons,  when  he  lay  beneath 
the  maples  in  the  deep  shade  of  the  dooryard,  and 
Twiddie,  in  her  blue  and  white  kimono,  read  to  us  his 
favorites  of  the  Andersen  tales  —  "  The  Fir  Tree," 
"  The  Wild  Swans,"  "  The  Old  House,"  and  "  The 
Storks." 

Dick  Malory,  too,  came  up  for  a  few  days'  trout- 
fishing  —  I  might  say,  with  Twiddie ;  for  they  were  off 
together  with  a  basket  of  lunch  by  the  day,  and 
Twiddle  showed  him  all  my  haunts,  —  the  deep  pool 
in  the  heart  of  the  North  Creek  glen,  where,  beneath 
the  shade  of  a  big  rock  overhung  with  alders,  I  have 


130      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

found  a  two-pounder,  with  his  nose  rubbing  the  rock 
shiny;  the  trail  up  the  Hollow,  where  the  brook  picks 
its  way  among  the  moss-covered  boulders,  that 
nourish  in  their  crevices  the  fronded  ferns,  to  a  little 
run  that  gets  a  fair  start  away  from  the  rocks  and 
whirls  into  a  sand-pocket  across  which  lies  the  trunk 
of  a  monster  pine.  Just  there  the  water  will  dartle 
suddenly;  — there's  a  flash  of  silver,  a  spurt  for  the 
little  run  —  where  am  I  ? 

He  also  satisfied  me  in  regard  to  himself;  as  he 
said,  "  opened  the  windows  a  little." 

One  night  when  all  were  gone  to  bed  and  the  moon 
light  transfused  the  crowding  birches  on  the  face  of 
the  hill  over  against  the  Hollow,  we  spoke  of  Made 
line  Cope.  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  Dick  Malory's 
cousin,  the  one  who  was  with  him  on  the  coaching- 
trip. 

"You  mean  Madeline  Cope?" 
"  Yes." 

"  Yes,   I  Ve  known   her    for    five    years  —  that   is, 
off  and    on.     She   is    a    Baltimore    woman ;    Dick's 
mother  and  hers  were  sisters,  both  of  them  Maryland 
women,  and  my  father's  aunt  was  their  grandmother. 
Now,  make  what  you  can  of  that  relation.     We  claim 
a  distant  cousinship  —  that's  safe  under  the  circum 
stances.     I  have  n't  seen  her  for  a  year." 
"  She  's  about  your  age,  isn't  she?  " 
"  Why?  does  she  look  it,  do  you  think?  " 
"  No  —  but  she's  different  from  a  girl." 
"  She's  a  month  or  two  younger  than  I; — inter 
ested  in  the  carving,  was  n't  she?  " 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        131 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,  but  she  did  n't  say  anything  about 
it." 

He  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and  refilled 
it  before  he  answered : 

"  That  's  like  Madeline.  She  's  demonstrative 
enough  over  anything  that  pleases  her  fancy  merely ; 
but  let  her  be  really  touched,  and  all  the  king's 
horses  and  all  the  king's  men  can't  draw  an  ex 
pression  from  her." 

"But  I  know  she  liked  them,"  I  persisted. 

"Why  shouldn't  she,  Hugh?  She'd  have  to  be 
blind  not  to  see  the  beauty  of  them,  and  if  ever  a 
woman  had  an  artist's  eye,  true  for  line,  and  apprecia 
tive  of  color,  she  has.  By  the  way,  have  you  chosen 
your  designs  for  the  new  fireplaces?  " 

It  is  pleasant  for  a  man  to  hear  words  of  praise  for 
his  work  from  the  lips  of  his  friend,  and,  somehow,  he 
switched  me  off  the  track,  and  I  heard  no  more  of 
Madeline  Cope  —  and  I  would  so  gladly  have  heard 
more  ! 

The  fall  rains  have  set  in  early.  Uncle  Shim  is 
behindhand  about  getting  in  the  corn,  and  Aunt  Lize 
is  fretting  for  fear  of  mildew  in  the  shocks. 

It  is  so  dark,  so  overcast,  that  I  have  had  to  lay 
aside  my  work,  the  designs  for  the  autumn  panels  — 
oak  branches,  corn  in  the  car,  vines  of  the  hop  and 
wild  grape. 

Aunt  Lize  came  in  a  few  minutes  ago ;  I  knew  by 
the  way  she  sat  down  in  the  old  rocker  she  was  out 
of  sorts,  discouraged.  I  don't  blame  her,  Uncle  Shim 
is  so  shiftless. 


132      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"  What  ye  doin'  in  the  dark,  Hughie?  " 

"  Thinking  thunks,  Aunt  Lize,"  I  answered,  know 
ing  that  my  announcement  of  this  occupation  gener 
ally  put  her  to  rights.  Not  so  to-day. 

"I  wish  ye 'd  speak  ter  yer  Uncle," — she  broke 
out  fretfully  —  "he  hain't  no  notion  'bout  seasons  'n' 
their  doin's;  he's  allus  queer  'bout  somethings,  'n' 
it's  more  'n  flesh  'n'  blood  can  stan'." 

"What's  the  matter,  Aunt  Lize?  He's  churning 
now,  I  hear  him  out  in  the  shed ;  is  n't  it  pretty  late 
in  the  afternoon  for  that?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  's  churnin',"  repeated  Aunt  Lize  with 
all  the  scorn  of  which  her  voice  is  capable ;  "  he  's 
churnin'  fer  the  second  time  ter-day." 

"  How  does  that  happen?" 

"Jest  ez  everything  happens  in  this  house  — 
through  clear,  downright  shif 'lessncss.  Ef  he  wuz 
er  woman,  I  'd  call  him  er  slattern,  but  he  hain't  jest 
thet  nuther;  he's  clean  'nough,  Shim  is,  'n'  allus 
changes  his  shirt  'n'  overalls  'n'  boots  when  he  sets 
out  ter  churn;  —  but  this  mornin'  —  I  dunno  but 
'twuz  part  my  fault  — 

Aunt  Lize  was  weakening;  that's  the  way  she 
always  does  when  she  is  finding  fault  with  Uncle  Shim 
—  ends  by  laying  all  the  blame  on  herself.  It  riles 
me.  I  'm  afraid  I  spoke  up  pretty  sharp : 

"What's  he  churning  for  anyway  at  this  time  of 
day?  He's  going  it  two-forty  a  minute  —  "Aunt 
Lize  began  to  chuckle,  then  to  shake,  and  at  last 
she  laughed  so  hard  that  she  had  to  wipe  the  tears 
away  with  her  apron  before  she  could  speak. 

"Efye'd  only  seen  him,  Hughie,  ye 'd  carry  the 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        133 

sight  with  ye  ter  yer  dyin'  day.  My  senses !  I 
wished  I  'd  hed  one  er  them  new-fangled  ambrotype 
boxes  thet  the  folks  hed  up  here,  thet  ketched  me  'n' 
Twiddie  while  we  wuz  talkin',  quicker  'n'  ye  can  say 
Jack  Robinson."  She  began  to  laugh  again. 

"  He  wuz  out  in  the  shed  where  he  allus  sets,  ye 
know;  I  'd  skum  half  the  cream  'h'  hed  er  big  mess, 
'bout  six  quarts,  'n'  he  wuz  churnin'  erway  kinder 
half  'n'  half,  thinkin'  the  Lord  knows  what ;  —  I  ain't 
blasphemin'  nuther,  fer  Shim  hez  got  the  slowest 
workin'  mind  fer  er  man  I  ever  come  ercross;  'n'  I 
wuz  stewin'  'bout  the  corn  mildewin',  'n'  s'posed  he 
wuz  lis'ning.  Purty  soon,  I  heerd  er  cur'ous  noise, 
'n'  the  kitchen  door  bein'  open,  I  jest  laid  my  eye  ter 
the  crack  'thout  stoppin'  jawin',  'n'  thar  he  sot  —  both 
han's  graspin'  the  dasher,  goin'  it  chuggety-chug,  'n' 
his  two  eyes  raised  e'en-a-most  heavenwards  ter  the 
shed  timbers,  'n'  his  old  cowhide  boots,  he  'd  fergot 
ter  change  with  his  shirt,  all  flooded  ter  the  vampin' 
with  my  good  cream  —  'n'  most  ter  butter  too!"  I 
began  to  laugh  immoderately. 

"What  did  you  say,  Aunt  Lize?" 

"Say?  —  nothin';  I  jest  let  him  keep  thet  dasher 
er-goin'  till  he  come  to,  'n'  found  he  'd  somehow 
managed  ter  git  the  bottom  out  er  the  churn.  He 
said  't  hed  warped  —  but 't  warn't  no  sech  thing.  Six 
quarts  er  good  thick  cream  !  I  can't  git  er  cent  erhead 
ef  I  git  up  fore  cock-crow  ter  do  it." 

Poor  Aunt  Lize.  But  I  could  see  she  felt  better 
for  the  telling  of  her  trial.  She  began  to  rock  com 
fortably. 

"Let's  make  b'lieve,  Aunt  Lize,  as  Twiddie  does. 


134       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

What  would  you  like  most  to  have  in  all  the  world  if 
you  could?" 

"  Me,  Hughie?  I  hain't  no  time  ter  make  b'lieve; 
but  I  guess  ye  know  the  fust  thing  I  'd  want." 

"What's  that?  "  She  leaned  over  and  stroked  my 
tumbled  hair  with  her  hard,  work-worn  hand.  The 
hair  caught  on  the  roughened  skin. 

"  Guess  it 's  most  time  fer  barberin',  ain't  it,  Hughie  ?" 
There  was  a  quaver  in  her  voice,  but  her  hand  went 
back  and  forth,  over  and  around,  smoothing  my 
hair. 

"  It 's  about  a  year  ago  you  barbered,  Aunt  Lize ; 
do  you  remember?  " 

"I  hain't  fergot;  ye 've  changed  er  sight  sence 
then." 

I  laughed.     "  Grown  in  grace,  have  I?  " 

She  nodded  emphatically.  "  Ye  'member  he  come 
jest  ez  I  'd  finished?  " 

"  I  shan't  ever  forget  that." 

"  It's  them  folks  hez  changed  ye,  Hughie;  give  ye 
new  life,  'n'  put  new  marrer  inter  yer  bones  — 

"  Only  so  far,"  I  interrupted,  pointing  to  the  dead 
end  of  me ;  then,  seeing  the  look  on  Aunt  Lize's 
face,  I  could  have  kicked  myself  for  having  shown  the 
white  feather.  "  Not  the  new  people  wholly ;  you 
trusted  me  first  with  the  darning-needle,  —  do  you 
remember?  —  and  Twiddie  forgot  to  be  afraid  of  me. 
No,  no,  Aunt  Lize — you  and  Twiddie  first." 

For  answer  her  hand  rested  on  my  head  for  a 
moment,  then  the  sound  of  Uncle  Shim's  dasher 
suddenly  ceased.  Aunt  Lize  flew  up. 

"  I  must  go  —  the  bu'ter  's  come  !  quicker  'n  it  eve* 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        135 

did  before ;    I  guess  thet  scoldin'  did  n't    bender  it 
any." 

October. 

Work  fills  the  seven  hours  of  daylight  out  of  the 
ten;  the  rest  I  give  to  reading.  Twiddle  has  been 
out  gathering  butternuts  ;  Uncle  Shim  is  just  empty 
ing  the  bushel  basket  on  the  garret  floor  overhead. 
How  that  sound  stirs  every  fibre  of  my  Past !  —  Some 
times  I  think  I've  conquered;  then,  of  a  sudden, 
a  sound  like  that !  —  and  I  'm  undone  again. 

The  barberry  bush  lives  once  a  year  in  its  color. 
How  it  glows  against  the  big,  gray  boulder  that 
crops  out  just  above  the  hemlocks  !  I  wish  it  might 
lend  itself  to  wood  and  tools  —  but  it  does  n't,  I  Ve 
tried  it. 

November. 

The  fireplace  panels  are  off,  and  I  'm  having  a 
vacation  of  a  week  after  my  fall  working-term.  I  'm 
tired,  and  rest  by  looking  at  my  David  and  the  iron 
sword-guard ;  by  reading  of  the  lands  till  now  un 
known  to  me,  of  other  races,  their  development  de 
pendent  upon  the  physiography  of  their  habitat,  their 
differentiation  and  points  of  contact.  It  is  wonder 
ful  what  these  volumes  of  Re"clus  have  opened  up 
to  me. 

On  a  bitter  night  like  this  I  am  far  away  in  the 
lotus-land  of  India ;  in  the  few  days  of  Indian  summer, 
I  roamed  the  Canadian  forests  and  rivers  with  the 
old  French  voyageurs. 


I  36       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

The  mind  is  unfettered/reading  so; — the  bound 
body  forgotten,  tenantless  when  its  in-dweller  roams. 

Two  checks  for  seventy-five  each  have  come  this 
week.  We  have  decided  to  lift  the  mortgage  little 
by  little ;  when  the  whole  nine  hundred  shall  have 
been  paid  off,  we  can  draw  a  free  breath  —  and 
celebrate  Thanksgiving  in  old  style. 

In  part,  this  is  "  making  believe,"  like  Twiddie,  for 
how  do  I  know  that  work  will  be  given  me?  It  has 
been  just  a  run  of  luck  thus  far. 

Day  before  Thanksgiving.  —  How  I  've  laughed 
over  the  revolt  of  Aunt  Lize  ;  laughed  and  - 

Yesterday  afternoon  at  dusk  I  heard  a  wild  com 
motion  in  the  hen-house.  Afterward  Twiddie  rushed 
in  with  my  supper  —  a  bowl  of  fresh  hulled-corn  and 
milk —  nearly  spilling  it  in  her  flutter,  and  then  tore 
out  again,  slamming  the  door  behind  her;  that  means 
I  am  shut  out  from  something.  But  I  would  n't  give 
her  the  satisfaction  of  asking  her  a  question  ;  if  I 
wait  long  enough,  she  '11  always  tell. 

But  she  didn't!  I  read  till  ten  o'clock,  then  I 
rapped  pretty  sharply  with  my  crook  on  the  wall, 
and  Uncle  Shim  instead  of  Aunt  Lize  appeared  to 
settle  me  for  the  night. 

"  Halloo,  Uncle  Shim;  what's  up?" 

"  Yer  aunt 's  got  er  spell,  Hughie." 

"  What  kind?" 

"Oh,  fixin'  things." 

"What  things?" 

"  Oh,  kinder  gin'ral  mussin'." 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        137 

"  Come,  Uncle  Shim,  out  with  it." 

"  I  dassen't,  Hughie,  I  gin  my  word." 

"  What  was  the  trouble  in  the  hen-house  last  night 
—  skunks?" 

"  No  —  't  warn't  er  skunk." 

"Fox?" 

"  No  —  can't  say  ez  't  wuz  er  fox." 

"  Uncle  Shim,  I  '11  never  knit  you  another  pair  of 
double  soles  to  go  stocking-feet  in  if  you  don't  tell 
me  what  Aunt  Lize  is  up  to." 

"  I  dassen't,  Hughie  ;  I  gin  my  word." 

"  Tell  Twiddie  to  come  here." 

"  She  's  jest  gone  up  ter  bed,  Hughie." 

"What!  without  saying  good-night  tome?  —  She 
never  does  that." 

"  Guess  she  dassen't  nuther ;  she  gin  her  word  ter 
Lize." 

"  Shim  Lewis  !  "  called  Aunt  Lize  from  the  pantry, 
"ye've  hed  time  'nough  ter  put  Hughie  ter  bed  ten 
times  over  —  I  never  see  sech  mortal  slowness;  come 
here  ;  I  want  ye." 

And  Uncle  Shim  went,  chuckling. 

It  is  Thanksgiving  morning,  old  style,  —  bleak 
and  gray,  ground  frozen  hard,  a  spitting  of  snow 
with  a  rising  wind. 

Aunt  Lize  came  in  before  it  was  fairly  light  and 
raked  out  the  coals,  piling  pine  brush  on  the  split 
wood.  Then,  when  the  flames  leaped,  she  rose  from 
her  knees  on  the  hearth,  and,  coming  over  to  the 
cot,  stood  by  it  a  moment  without  speaking,  but  roll 
ing  the  corner  of  her  apron  between  her  thumbs  and 


138      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

forefingers — a  sure  sign  with  her  of  a  perturbed 
state  of  soul ;  I  've  seen  it  before. 

"What  is  it,  Aunt  Lize?"  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"  I  've  got  ter  speak,  Hughie,  even  ef  't  is  yew." 
Her  voice  trembled. 

"  Go  ahead,  Aunt  Lize;   don't  mind  me." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Hughie  —  Oh,  I  can't  help  it  even 
ef  ye  be  er  cripple  — 

"  What  in  thunder,  Aunt  Lize  —  '  I  believe  if  I 
could  have  reached  her  mouth  I  should  have  stopped 
it.  She  has  never  called  me  that  before  —  and  just 
to-day ! 

By  the  light  of  the  fire  I  saw  her  lips  twitch,  then 
tighten,  before  she  went  on ;  —  no  tremble  in  her 
voice  this  time: 

"Yes,  er  cripple;  'n'  I  ain't  goin'  agin  the  mercies 
er  my  God  any  longer  jest  'coz  ye  be  one.  It  's  goin' 
on  nigh  onter  three  year  sence  ye  wuz  laid  here,  'n' 
all  this  time  I  ben  sayin'  my  prayers  under  my  breath, 
'n'  thinkin'  ter  deal  with  the  Lord  kinder  left-handed ; 
'n'  Shim  hain't  said  grace  onct,  'coz  we  could  allus 
hear  ye  cursin'  'n'  blasphemin',  mutterin'  'n'  swearin' 
ter  yerself  agin  the  God  thet  made  ye." 

I  think  I  must  have  felt  for  the  handle  bars  to  raise 
the  cot,  for  Aunt  Lize  drew  back,  and  put  out  her 
hand  as  if  to  ward  off  something ;  but  she  went  on 
steadily: 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  He  put  ye  thar  —  mind  thet,  Hughie ; 
't  warn't  God,  't  wuz  the  log;  'n'  anybody  thet 's  got 
common  sense  ain't  goin'  ter  lay  nat'ral  things  onter 
Him;  but  He  made  ye,  body  'n'  soul,  'n'  I  ain't  goin' 
ter  deny  Him  in  His  merciful  kindness  any  longer 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        139 

erlong  er  yew,  nor  Shim  nuther ;  V  now  thet  ye  've 
stopped  cursin'  —  leastways  I  hain't  heerd  ye  aloud  — 
I  Ve  changed  my  mind  'bout  waitin'  ter  hev  Thanks- 
givin'  till  we  've  paid  off  the  morgige,  'n'  I  'm  goin'  ter 
hev  er  reg'lar  dinner  jest  ez  we  used  ter  hev  —  turkey 
'n'  chicken-pie  'n'  all  the  fixin's,  'n'  Shim  's  goin'  ter 
say  grace,  'n'  I  want  ye  ter  be  moved  out  on  yer  cot 
'n'  eat  with  us  —  won't  ye,  Hughie?" 

I  could  not  answer ;  it  had  come  upon  me  like  a 
lightning-bolt  out  of  a  clear  sky  —  and  struck.  She 
went  on : 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  use  er  folks  thinkin'  they  can  mor 
gige  their  futer,  'n'  cal'latin'  ter  pay  int'rest  on  't  arter- 
wards ;  —  ther'  ain't  nothin'  but  jest  now  thet 's  ourn, 
'n'  I,  fer  one,  be  er-goin'  ter  make  the  most  on  't.  We 
can  afford  ter  make  Thanksgivin'  this  year,  'n'  I  'm 
goin'  ter  make  it." 

"Where  be  ye,  Lize?"  called  Uncle  Shim.  She 
turned,  threw  on  more  wood,  then  hurried  out  of 
the  room. 

Such  a  paring,  and  chopping,  and  beating,  and 
whisking,  and  rolling,  and  patting,  and  stewing,  and 
boiling,  and  roasting,  and  basting,  as  went  on  for  the 
next  seven  hours !  Then  they  moved  me  out  into 
the  fragrant,  Thanksgiving-filled  warmth  of  the  old 
kitchen,  and  we  had  dinner  together.  Aunt  Lize  and 
Twiddie  were  radiant,  and  Uncle  Shim  said  grace, 
but  in  a  husky  voice,  —  the  same  he  used  to  say: 

"  O  Lord,  we  thank  thee  fer  life  and  victuals,  'n' 
fer  thy  mercies  everlastin' ;  Amen." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Aunt  Lize,  triumphantly. 

"  Amen  !  "  echoed  Twiddie,  joyously. 


140      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

Aunt  Lize  and  I  have  been  knitting  together  in  the 
short  December  twilight.  We  have  decided  it  is  not 
best  for  Twiddie  to  go  longer  to  the  district  school ; 
what  happened  early  in  the  summer  influenced  us. 
I  told  Aunt  Lize  what  the  child  said  to  me  that  night 
we  talked  together : 

"  But  we  always  have  mothers,  don't  we,  Hughie? 
They  can't  twit  us  'bout  not  havin'  them  ?  " 

"  Ye  call  her  er  child,  Hughie,  but  she  's  growin'  up 
fast,"  said  Aunt  Lize  when  she  could  speak,  "  'n'  ther' 
ain't  no  use  puttin'  her  inter  places  whar  she  '11  hev 
ter  suffer  more  'n  she  need  ter.  I  knew  she  'd  hev  ter 
know  sometime,  but  I  never  thought  't  would  come 
thet  way — I  'd  oughter  told  her,  but  I  was  er  coward. 
I  hain't  dared  ter  tell  Shim;  he's  slow  'bout  sensin' 
sech  things,  but  when  he  hez  sensed  'em  he  holds 
on  ter  er  grudge  like  er  dog  ter  er  bone.  Ef  he  'd 
known  it,  I  dunno  but  he'd  er  killed  thet  boy." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  kept  it  from  him ;  we  '11  manage 
somehow.  I  '11  see  to  her  sums  and  geography  ;  and, 
in  time,  I  hope  to  get  enough  books  together  to 
help  her  out.  She  learns  French  so  quick  —  she 
beats  me;  and  yesterday,  she  was  begging  me  to 
teach  her  Latin.  We  '11  manage  somehow ;  don't  you 
worry." 

"  I  dunno,  Hughie,  what  we  should  all  dew  'thout 
ye." 

"  How  about  you,  Aunt  Lize?  " 

"  Me !  Oh,  I  don't  count  much."  She  beat  the 
patch-work  cushion  in  the  rocking-chair  till  I  thought 
the  feathers  would  fly,  "  redded  up,"  as  she  says,  the 
hearth  with  the  turkey-wing  brush,  and  then  flew  out 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        141 

to  get  a  hot  supper  for  Uncle  Shim,  who  has  gone 
down  to  Scawsville  to  take  some  logs  to  the  saw-mill. 
Twiddie  is  with  him. 

She  came  back,  overjoyed.  It  is  a  fact  that 
Twiddie  is  growing  handsome ;  even  Aunt  Lize 
spoke  of  it  the  other  day  when  we  had  our  talk. 
She  had  had  a  note  from  Madeline  Cope  asking  her 
to  tell  her  what  books  she  would  like  for  Christmas, 
as  she  was  going  to  send  her  a  box. 

I  have  the  little  note  in  my  hand,  —  have  kept  it  a 
half-hour  under  pretence  of  having  forgotten  to  give 
it  back.  What  a  fool  a  man  can  be  when  there  is  no 
one  by  to  see  ! 

We  are  nonplussed,  both  of  us;  we  don't  know  the 
names  of  any  books  —  that's  the  trouble.  I  Ve  ad 
vised  Twiddie  to  write  that  she  would  like  Miss  Cope 
to  send  her  the  books  she  liked  when  she  was  fourteen. 
I  pulled  one  string  for  myself  in  this. 

To  show  her  approval,  Twiddie  danced  up  and 
down  the  room,  clapping  her  hands,  and  making  such 
a  racket  that  Aunt  Lize  came  in  to  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

After  supper  she  wrote  her  letter ;  she  has  im 
proved  much  in  her  English,  only  dropping  a  "g" 
now  and  then,  or  mispronouncing  a  word.  When 
she  had  finished  it,  she  grew  strangely  quiet. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Twiddie,"  I  said. 

She  looked  up ;  the  firelight  caught  on  the  thick 
waves  of  her  reddish-brown  hair,  and  the  profile 
against  the  flame  showed  as  pure  as  the  David's. 

"  Hughie,  Miss  Cogc  isn't  a  mother,  is  she?  " 


142      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

(What  a  thought  leaped  within  me  !  ) 

"  No,  Twiddie." 

"  And  she  is  n't  married,  of  course?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

"  But,  Hughie,  I  don't  understand.  I  had  a  mother, 
didn't  I?" 

"Why,  of  course;  Uncle  Shim's  sister." 

"But  she  wasn't  married  cither,  was  she?" 

"  No,  Twiddie."  I  began  to  grow  hot  and  wish 
Aunt  Lize  were  in  the  room. 

"But  she  was  different  from  Miss  Cope;  —  how, 
Hughie?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  such  things,  Twiddie?  "  I  tried 
to  speak  sternly,  but  failed ;  for  her  blue  eyes  — 
nearly  black  with  inward  excitement  —  were  raised 
to  mine  with  a  look  in  them  like  that  in  the  brown 
ones  of  a  doe  with  fawn  that  I  shot  once  by 
mistake. 

"  Because  —  don't  I  say  it  nice  now,  Hughie?  —  " 
("Yes,  Twiddie")  "because  I  wish  —  you  won't 
laugh  at  me?" — ("Not  I.")  "I  wish  she  could  be 
my  mother ;  I  love  her  so !  " 

I  was  dumb. 

I  shall  be  careful  how  I  ask  for  the  girl's  thoughts 
again.  Yes,  undoubtedly,  Twiddie  is  growing  up. 

What  weather !  Clear  and  crisp ;  sunshine  from 
sunrise  to  sunset ;  enough  snow  to  blanket  the  ground, 
yet  not  so  much  as  to  prevent  work  in  the  deep 
timber-belt.  Everywhere  there  is  the  ring  of  axes. 
I  've  been  able  to  hire  ten  Canucks  for  a  week  this 
year;  Aunt  Lize  feeds  them,  and  Uncle  Shim  spends 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen         143 

his  time  sledding  food  to  their  camp  beyond  the 
clearing.  I  've  lived  in  a  perpetual  stew  this  week, 
for  Aunt  Lize  has  cooked  from  morning  till  night  — 
brown-bread,  boiled  corned-beef,  baked  beans  and 
pork,  doughnuts  by  the  hundred  dozen,  I  should  say; 
I  know  the  appetite  that  is  whetted  as  the  axe  dulls. 
-Whew!  The  air ! 

I  Ve  envied  Twiddie  up  at  the  edge  of  the  woods 
beyond  the  Old  Pasture  with  Tag  for  company.  She 
is  gathering  greens,  ground-pine,  ground-hemlock, 
and  bitter-sweet  to  make  into  Christmas  wreaths  for 
Philip  Vanever,  Dick  Malory,  and  Madeline  Cope. 

Miss  Cope  wrote  her  again  to  ask  her  to  gather  as 
much  ground-pine  as  possible,  and  send  it  to  her 
in  barrels.  She  says  the  price  in  the  city  is  five  cents 
a  pound,  and  she  will  pay  Twiddie  that  for  all  she 
gathers. 

How  joyous  the  girl  is !  She  and  Aunt  Lize 
are  making  "  maple-sugar-butternut  "  candy  in  the 
kitchen.  Uncle  Shim  and  Toughheel,  who  has  been 
helping  Twiddie  with  the  greens  for  half  a  day,  are 
cracking  butternuts  before  my  open  fire,  each  with  a 
flat  stone  on  his  lap,  and  a  cobble  for  a  cracker. 

It  was  Twiddle's  idea  to  send  a  box  of  the  candy 
to  each  of  our  friends,  not  forgetting  Franz  Waldort 
in  California,  and  mine  to  carve  a  bit  of  our  New 
England  winter  —  bitter-sweet  and  partridge  berry  — 
into  the  wood  of  each.  The  house  has  been  like  a 
beehive  in  consequence,  and  Twiddle's  joy  in  it  all 
is  contagious. 


144        The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

She  flew  into  my  room  just  now,  and  flung  down  a 
huge  bunch  of  bitter-sweet  upon  the  bench ;  her 
cheeks  match  the  red  of  the  seeds. 

"  Oh,  Hughie  !  I  never  had  such  good  times  in 
my  life." 

She  seized  my  face  between  both  mittens,  and  gave 
it  a  well-meant,  if  somewhat  rough,  rubbing. 

"  There  now  !  I  Ve  put  some  winter  red  into  your 
cheeks!  Do  you  know  what  you  are?"  This  with 
a  parting  scrub. 

"  Come  back  here,  and  play  fair,  or  I  '11  — 

"  You  're  a  bijon  !  " 

"Twiddie,  come  back  just  for  a  jiffy  —  " 

For  answer,  I  heard  her  laugh  in  the  kitchen  with 
Aunt  Lize. 

There  is  no  denying  it;  —  Twiddie  is  growing  up. 

I  went  to  work  again  on  my  boxes. 

I  Ve  worked  like  a  beaver  these  last  two  weeks.  To 
finish  the  boxes,  I  Ve  put  aside  the  winter  panels,  but 
the  designs  are  ready — -pine  and  cones,  mountain- 
ash,  larch,  and  last,  —  but  I  like  it  best  of  all,  —  being 
put  to  it  for  a  fourth  winter  design,  I  bethought  me 
of  the  little  chipping-sparrow's  nest  in  a  spruce  tree 
yonder  in  the  bush.  It  is  in  full  sight,  and  I  have  put 
branch  and  empty  nest,  just  as  I  see  them,  upon  the 
panel.  —  That 's  winter  with  a  vengeance. 

Now  look  at  that !  The  very  day  on  which  Uncle 
Shim  carried  down  the  barrels  of  greens  and  the  pack 
ages  as  far  as  Scawsville,  he  came  back  with  some  mail 
and  a  book  parcel ;  I  can't  get  ahead  of  them,  do 
what  I  may. 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        145 

DEAR  ARMSTRONG, 

That  letter  of  yours  had  the  right  ring ;  I  glory  in 
your  grit.  Sometime,  if  it  comes  right,  I  '11  tell  you 
a  bit  of  my  own  experience.  I  find  that  social  life  is 
no  botch-work,  no  hit-or-miss  affair,  but  subject  to 
natural  laws  like  those  that  govern  the  trend  of  strata, 
outcrops,  faults,  and  the  like. 

Meanwhile,  I  'm  pleased  enough  that  the  books 
please  you,  and  because  I  want  you  to  know  us  better, 
us,  who  have  only  "  Forty-niners,"  for  an  ancestry,  I 
send  you,  with  the  season's  greeting,  a  year  of  the 
Overland  Monthly,  —  I  don't  believe  you  know  it,  — 
the  poems  of  our  Joaquin  Miller,  and  two  volumes 
of  Bret  Harte.  I  add  to  them  a  little  volume  of  verse 
by  Sill  —  do  you  know  him?  and  have  marked  a  poem 
or  two,  "  April  in  Oakland,"  and  "  Eastern  Winter  "  ; 
I  think  of  you  in  that  environment  at  present;  if  I 
am  wrong,  tell  me. 

As  we  Westerners  don't  stand  particularly  on  cere 
mony  when  we  've  struck  a  vein  —  or  staked  a  claim 
—  of  anything,  I  am  shipping  to  you  to-day,  with 
out  so  much  as  asking  your  leave,  two  planks  of  our 
best  redwood.  I  told  a  friend  about  those  carv 
ings,  and  he  would  like  you  to  fill  this  order,  if  you 
can,  by  May  1st.  I  say  if  you  can;  for  you  may 
not  find  it  workable ;  but  possibly  a  broad  treatment 
may  show  results.  He  wants  the  redwood  for  a  fire 
place  for  hir,  "  shack  "  back  in  the  mountains  of  Santa 
Barbara  —  all  New  England  designs;  he  leaves  you 
free  hand  in  everything.  Of  course  we  grow  every 
thing  out  here  that  any  one  else  grows,  but  we  don't 
grow  it  in  quite  the  same  way  as  you  do  in  that  New 
England  corner  of  yours  —  I  have  n't  forgotten  those 
wood-strawberries. 

10 


146        The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

Set  your  price,  and  don't  mind  my  saying  "  shack." 
He  owns  a  mine  or  two,  and  can  pay  with  a  "  gold 
brick "  (no  joke)  if  necessary.  His  "  shack "  has 
seventeen  rooms,  and  the  fireplace  is  for  the  living- 
room. 

The    season's    greetings   to    your   people    on    the 
Mountain,  and  turn  to  page  28,  last  verse,  of  Sill,  for 
I  want  you  to  see  by  the  aid  of  the  mind's  eye  what  I 
am  looking  at  this  winter  night  in  California. 
Yours  of  the  Overland, 

FRANZ  WALDORT. 

"  Away 

Across  the  bay,  the  city  with  its  lights 
Twinkling  against  the  horizon's  dusky  line, 
Looks  a  sea-serpent,  crawled  up  on  the  shore, 
With  rings  of  fire  across  his  rounded  back, 
And  luminous  claws  spread  out  among  the  hills  — 
Above,  the  glittering  heavens.     Magnificent !  " 

Dare  I  say  longer  that  this  is  a  "  run  of  luck  "  ? 

Aunt  Lize's  attitude  toward  all  this  work  and  litter 
of  mine  amuses  me;  to  her  it  is  merely  "whittling" 
and  "  chips,"  nor  can  she  understand  why  I  get  such 
pay  for  it. 

The  Canucks  have  gone,  all  except  Toughhecl, 
who  is  to  help  Uncle  Shim  haul  logs.  Saturday 
night,  after  six,  they  filed  into  my  room  to  get  their 
pay,  —  a  squat,  black-browed,  brown-faced  crowd  ; 
before  they  left,  I  read  to  them  from  Reclus  the  river- 
songs  of  the  old  Canucks  that  they  sang  to  ward  off 
evil  from  their  craft: 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        147 

" '  Un  noir  corbeau,  volant  a  1'aventure, 

Vient  se  percher  tout  pres  de  ma  toiture  — 

Va  t'en  manger,  laisse  moi  en  repos.' " 

How  the  beady  eyes  sparkled,  the  strong  yellow- 
stained  teeth  came  into  full  view,  the  gold  half-moon 
earrings  twinkled  as  they  nodded  emphatic  approval ! 

But  when  I  read  them  the  other,  which  most  of 
them  had  sung  on  some  lumberman's  lugger  in  the 
rapids,  they  one  and  all,  led  by  Toughheel,  fell  into 
a  kind  of  swaying  motion,  keeping  time  with  their 
feet  and  jerking  their  arms,  and  broke  forth  in  shrill 
cadence : 

"  '  Nous  avons  saute*  le  longue  Sault 

Nous  1'avons  saute  tout  d'un  morceau  — 

Rould,  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant, 
En  roulant  ma  boule  roulant  — 
En  roulant  ma  boule  ! ' ' 

It  did  me  good  to  hear  them  sing  the  old  catch, 
and  they  were  as  frankly  pleased  with  their  per 
formance  as  children.  But  Aunt  Lize  and  Twiddie 
were  frightened,  and  fled  to  Uncle  Shim  in  the  barn 
with  a  woful  tale. 

Two  days  before  Christmas. 

Uncle  Shim  remembered  the  fir  tree  of  last  year, 
and  came  in  to-day  with  a  little  beauty ;  he  has  set 
it  up  in  my  room.  Aunt  Lize,  too,  has  caught  the 
infection,  and  trimmed  my  room  with  greens.  Twiddie 
has  made  wreaths  for  every  window  in  the  house. 

Three   Christmas   boxes    have   come,    and    she   is 


148       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

tense  with  curiosity  and  excitement.  My  own  small 
gifts  I  have  had  to  make  and  procure  on  the  sly,  for 
Twiddie  has  had  eyes  in  the  back  of  her  head  these 
last  two  weeks. 

Christmas  night,  11  p.  M. 

All  abed,  and  I  am  writing  by  the  light  of  the  fire. 
The  little  tree,  so  green  and  sturdy,  stands  at  the 
right  of  the  fireplace;  its  fragrance  fills  the  nostrils 
pleasantly. 

The  bench  is  covered  with  remembrances  from  that 
other  world ;  they  were  too  many  for  the  tree.  I 
touch  this  and  the  other,  and  North,  South,  East 
and  West  strike  their  palms  into  mine; — the  blood 
tingles,  thought  quickens,  the  heart  throbs  high  at  the 
contact. 

Another  box  of  books,  two  boxes  of  the  best  cigars, 
another  photograph ;  I  Ve  scarce  been  able  to  keep 
my  eyes  from  it.  It  glows  warm  in  the  firelight  like 
the  David  on  the  mantel-shelf.  The  figure  in  the 
photograph  stands  full  three  feet  —  the  Venus  di 
Milo  !  Who  is  she?  What  is  she?  Has  she  taken 
all  men  sensuously  captive  as  she  has  me?  I  can't 
wait  to  know  more  of  her  —  but  was  n't  Aunt  Lize 
shocked  when  she  saw  her ! 

"  It 's  downright  pagan-heathenish,  Hughie." 

"Then  I 'm  a  pagan-heathen,  too,  Aunt  Lize."  I 
had  to  laugh  at  the  look  on  her  face. 

"I  don't  deny  but  she's  well-made,  Hughie;  I 
s'pose  there  be  jest  sech  women,  but  I  wish  ter 
decency  she  'd  h'ist  her  shift  cr  leetle."  I  roared, 
and  Aunt  Lize  went  out  of  the  room  in  a  huff. 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        149 

I  noticed  she  was  back  again  mighty  quick,  and 
did  her  share  of  the  looking.  Uncle  Shim  was 
stupefied  into  an  open-mouthed  "  I  vum  !  "  Twiddie 
thinks  she  is  beautiful,  and  so  shows  her  sense  of  what 
is  fine.  —  I  wonder  if  she  is  another  friend  of  Madeline 
Cope's? 

A  Christmas  note  from  her — my  first!  It  lies 
under  my  pillow,  to  be  read  and  re-read  in  the 
night-watches. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

I  have  purposely  delayed  writing  to  you  in  ac 
knowledgment  of  your  Mountain  hospitality  on  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  summer  day,  because  when  I 
wrote,  I  knew  I  should  have  to  make  a  confession  as 
well  as  ask  a  favor.  —  Now  is  n't  that  the  depth  of 
humiliation  for  a  woman?  I  '11  put  my  favor  first,  as 
a  kind  of  moral  breastplate  for  the  confession. 

My  aunt  and  I  are  going  to  Florida  the  first  of 
March;  and  before  we  go  a  sale  is  to  be  held  at  our 
house.  Do  you  think  you  could  find  time  for  the 
carving  of  some  small  articles — book-racks,  magazine- 
cutters,  or  photograph  frames — for  my  table?  If 
I  'm  asking  too  much,  don't  hesitate  to  say  so  ;  I  know 
what  steady  application  you  have  given  to  my  panels 
-Yes!  They're  mine!  I  do  so  hope  it's  a  sur 
prise  to  you.  It  all  came  about  in  the  simplest  way. 
I  was  in  New  York  after  the  holidays  at  my  uncle's, 
Dick's  father,  and  before  I  had  time  to  take  off  my 
hat,  Dick  dragged  me  up  three  flights  of  stairs  to  his 
den  to  show  me  the  fireplace.  Dick  has  called  me 
a  Vestal  Virgin  ever  since,  for  I  knelt  right  down  on 
the  hearth  to  examine,  and  remained  to  adore. 

I  think  I  know  the  very  larch  you  modelled  from ; 


150      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

—  it's  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  Pent  Road  on 
the  north  side  of  Olympus,  about  half  a  mile  from 
your  house — -isn't  it?  Dick,  having  dragged  me  up 
there  rather  against  my  will,  had  to  drag  me  away 
for  lunch,  wholly  and  entirely  against  it. 

Of  course,  I  determined  on  the  spot  to  have  some 
of  those  lovely  carvings  to  live  with  permanently. 
Dick  directed  me  to  the  Society,  as  I  wanted  to 
preserve  my  incognito  you-wards,  and  I  'm  waiting 
for  my  last  panels. 

How  could  I  help  stealing  back  into  your  room 
to  see  the  designs  for  the  autumn  panels  and  the 
finished  summer  ones  !  Thank  you  so  much  for  giv 
ing  me  an  opportunity,  while  living  in  a  crowded 
southern  city,  to  breathe  on  your  New  England 
mountain-top. 

The  panels  are  to  be  set  in  my  own  little  morning- 
room,  where,  after  breakfast,  my  aunt  and  I  linger  to 
read  letters,  write  them,  or  sew  for  a  while.  Some 
times  our  club,  the  one  that  is  to  give  the  sale,  meets 
there,  and  I  don't  know  what  the  girls  will  say  when 
they  get  a  sight  of  those  four  seasons  —  alders,  dog 
wood,  birch,  and  cherry;  iris,  thistle,  wheat,  and  fern  ; 
corn  and  oak  —  ear  and  acorn —  climbing  grape  and 
twining  hop;  for  winter  —  what?  I  have  tried  to 
imagine,  but  failed.  Don't  keep  me  in  suspense  too 
long,  even  if  you  have  to  neglect  the  things  for  the 
sale. 

Will  you  remember  me  most  kindly  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lewis?  and  tell  Twiddie  I  have  sent  her  special 
greetings  with  the  box. 

The  check  for  the  panels  would  have  been  sent 
long  ago,  had  it  not  been  for  the  rules  of  the  Society, 
by  which,  as  a  purchaser  through  them,  I  am  bound 


What  Happened  in  the  Pen        151 

as  by  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians.     So  for  a 
time  I  must  still  remain  your  debtor  for  the  panels 
—  and  ever  and  always  for  those  three  hours  on  the 
heights. 

Sincerely  yours, 

MADELINE  COPE. 

P.  S.  We  will  have  no  middlemen  after  this  — 
will  we? 

How  like  her !  Frank,  open-hearted,  with  a  kind 
of  buoyancy  making  itself  felt  in  every  line ;  one  feels 
that  in  her  presence. 

No,  —  we  will  have  no  "  middlemen  "  hereafter  in 
anything,  she  and  I.  Twelve  by  the  kitchen  clock. 


IV 

WARP   AND   WOOF 


IV 

WARP  AND   WOOF 

July,  189-. 

NOT  an  entry  in  this  book  for  more  than  two 
years,  yet  Life  has  been  so  full,  so  en 
riched  with  work,  friends,  love ;  —  I  dare 
write  the  word,  now  that  I  have  grown  used  to  living 
with  it  in  thought.  Indeed,  I  have  another  record  of 
these  thirty  months  of  far  more  value  than  anything 
I  might  have  written  here ;  for  I  have  led  two  lives 
during  this  time :  one  the  life  of  a  working  shut-in  —  the 
work  growing  more  earnest  every  day,  the  art  more 
dear ;  the  other,  through  the  many  letters,  that  of  a 
traveller  in  foreign  lands,  with  a  congenial  companion 
—  sometimes  a  man,  but  oftenest  a  woman  —  by  my 
side.  Journeyman  years  they  have  been  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  word. 

Beginning  with  the  Florida  note  that  came  with  the 
orange  flowers  packed  in  gray  moss,  and  made  known 
to  me  our  Sir  Galahad  of  poets,  Lanier,  I  have  read 
through  the  entire  record  for  these  years. 

All  this  forenoon  I  was  busy  selecting,  arranging, 
combining  the  hundred  or  more  letters  that  would 
fill  a  quarto  were  I  to  attempt  to  transcribe  them 
here;  and,  during  all  the  time  that,  in  spirit,  I  was 
across  the  sea,  roaming  with  Her  the  purple-heathered 


156       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

heights  about  St.  Fillan's  and  Lochearnhead,  or  the 
golden-purple  heaths  of  North  Germany,  seeing  with 
Her  the  unspeakable  beauty  of  Venetian  sunsets,  or 
the  ineffable  but  faded  glories  of  Veronese  in  dark 
San  Sebastiano,  satisfying  my  craving  for  the  real 
with  the  ancient  carvings  of  Bernward's  Hildesheim, 
or  letting  my  soul  bask  in  the  sunlight  of  the  divine 
serenity  of  the  Madonna  faces  of  Holbein  and  Raphael, 
I  was  aware  of  Aunt  Lize  at  work  with  the  old  hand- 
loom  in  the  garret  overhead.  I  heard,  as  an  accom 
paniment  to  my  thoughts,  the  rick-rack  of  the  swift 
shuttles,  and  the  jar  and  rattling  crash  of  the  frames 
every  time  Aunt  Lize  shifted  them.  It  has  given  me 
food  for  thought. 

How  incessantly  the  shuttles  have  been  flying  these 
last  years,  interweaving  our  life-threads  —  Madeline 
Cope's,  Waldort's,  Philip's,  and  mine  !  Nor  yet  may 
I  trace  the  pattern.  —  Strange  ! 

This  afternoon  I  am  alone,  and  have  been  re-reading 
a  dozen  of  the  letters  that  are  entirely  personal;  tran 
scribing  them  also,  as  well  as  a  few  extracts  from  the 
many  descriptive  ones.  In  them  I  have  found  the 
loose  ends  of  several  strands ;  the  strands  themselves, 
which  I  mistook  at  first  for  single  threads,  I  find  to  be 
duplex,  triplicate,  yea,  multiplex. 

While  busy  transcribing  these  letters  I  have  felt  as 
if  I  were  working  at  the  Loom  of  Life,  watching  the 
plying  shuttles,  taking  a  hand  now  and  then  in  shift 
ing  the  frames.  Once  or  twice  I  have  caught  at  an 
end — a  mere  "thrum"  —and  tried  to  unravel  a 
little  way  to  find  its  connection  with  the  pattern  of 


Warp  and  Woof  157 

the  whole;  but  I  have  been  balked  in  my  purpose, 
and  met  only  bewildering  entanglement,  labyrinthine 
intricacy. 

Oh,  Waldort !  Heart  of  oak  that  you  are ;  you 
have  deserved  better  of  Life;  yet  your  last  word 
shows  you  sound  to  the  core,  and  the  grain  of  the 
wood  fine,  fine ! 

MOUNT  VERNON  PLACE,  May. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  ARMSTRONG, 

Here  we  are  at  home  again ;   but  only  as  birds  of 
passage,  for  we  sail  for  Europe  in  June,  and  shall  prob 
ably  remain  there  two  years,  seeking  the  by-ways  — 
and  browsing  by  the  way. 

You  may  trust  me  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  carvings.  I  mean,  if  I  can,  to  keep 
you  in  touch  with  all  the  blossom-side  of  life  over 
there.  I  am  going  because  I  have  found  a  thorn 
among  my  roses  over  here,  which  is  a  rather  unpleas 
ant  surprise  for  a  woman  of  thirty-two. 

I  am  so  glad  you  like  Lanier ;  I  thought  you  would  ; 
that  is  why  I  sent  him  to  you.  Does  n't  it  seem  to 
you  as  if  the  key  to  that  wonderful  spiritual  genius  of 
his  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  begins  and  ends  in  God? 

I  am  perfectly  sure  that  neither  Grampians,  Alps, 
nor  Apennines  can  give  me  fuller  enjoyment  than 
your  New  England  mountains  gave  me  on  that  ideal 
summer  day.  — May  I  come  again,  invited,  sometime 
when  I  shall  be  again  in  America? 

Tell  Twiddie  I  wish  she  would  write  me  often ;  the 
child's  letters  are  unique.  Dick  says  she  has  promised 
to  write  him.  Did  you  know  he  is  going?  All  letters 
may  come  care  of  Baring  Brothers ;  you  see  I  am 
taking  it  for  granted  that  the  Hornet's  mail-bag 


158       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

will  carry  some  with  that  address ;  that 's  a  woman's 
privilege  to  take  things  for  granted, —  or  isn't  it? 

Sincerely  yours, 

MADELINE  COPE. 


SAN  CHRISTOVAL,  CALIFORNIA,  June. 
DEAR  ARMSTRONG, 

The  redwood  fireplace  is  a  triumph.  I  am  guest 
in  the  shack,  resting  after  an  extended  trip  with  my 
post-graduate  class  into  the  Sangre  del  Cristo  moun 
tains  of  Colorado  —  for  the  moraines  of  Grape  Creek. 
Tough,  back-breaking  work  it  has  been ;  but  I  have 
welcomed  it,  for  I  have  noticed  that  when  a  man's 
"  nerve,"  not  nerves,  is  overstrained,  the  best  restora 
tive  is  a  set  of  muscles  dead-beat  through  overwork. 

The  truth  is,  Armstrong,  there  's  been  an  upheaval 
in  my  life  of  late.  I  knew  it  had  to  come,  —  it's 
been  coming  for  years ;  but  when  it  came  it  was  a 
regular  convulsion  of  nature ;  and,  just  at  present, 
I  'm  played  out,  and  have  come  away  up  here  to  draw 
a  long  breath  and  get  a  new  grip  on  Life.  It 's  a 
good  place  for  it. 

I  wish  you  could  see  it.  The  shack  is  located  on 
a  grassy  plateau  in  the  apex  of  a  triangular  gorge, 
the  base  broad  and  open  to  the  plains  and  the  sea. 
Behind  us  the  gray  walls  of  rock,  weathered  and 
eroded  into  massive  sculptured  pillars,  rise  sheer  a 
thousand  feet.  There  is  a  brook  at  all  seasons  tum 
bling  into  the  depths  beneath  us,  but  in  the  rains  it 
is  a  white  leaping  torrent.  The  gorge  is  filled  with 
pines  and  their  shadows,  and  we  look  over  them  down 
and  away  to  the  Pacific. 

Mine  host  has  a  history ;  all  men  have  who  are 
lucky  enough  to  have  been  born  out  here  in  the 


Warp  and  Woof  159 

sixties.  He  has  made  and  lost  a  half-dozen  fortunes 
—  but  is  solid  now.  I  met  him  in  Europe,  and  he 
has  never  failed  me;  but  he  does  n't  "  open  up  well," 
as  we  say  of  a  vein,  when  it  cornes  to  the  eternal 
things  of  a  man's  life.  We  get  on  well  enough  with 
the  transient — quotations  on  stocks  and  bonds,  land 
prospectus,  mining,  etc.  So  I  turn  to  you  there  on 
your  New  England  mountain-top,  sure  of  finding  with 
you  what  I  can't  with  him. 

Don't  ask  me  to  define  the  "what,"  —  I'm  not 
strong  on  definitions;  but  give  me  a  good  fact  like 
a  geode,  and  I  can  crack  away  on  it  with  the  best 
of  them. 

I  can't  help  saying  I  do  admire  your  pluck,  Arm 
strong.  I  should  be  a  devil  if  I  were  in  your  place. 
You  have  the  kind  of  courage  I  admire  more  than 
any  other ;  I  have  n't  it.  Let  me  know  how  you  're 
coming  on.  —  I  hear  Miss  Cope  is  going  to  Europe 
for  two  years.  I  met  her  there,  too.  In  fact,  but 
for  mine  host,  I  should  never  have  seen  her  —  and  I 
take  it  she  's  a  woman  worth  any  man's  seeing.  But 
I  'm  aware  that  I  'm  speaking  in  the  dark  to  you. 
I  '11  fulfil  my  written  word  of  telling  you  something 
of  my  experience  later  on,  as  you  have  shown  such 
kindly  interest  in  the  Forty-niner's  son. 

But  I  'd  like  to  know  what  the  deuce  you  mean  by 
taking  such  liberties  in  legitimate  business,  as  to  send 
back  half  the  amount  of  that  check  and  saying  it  is 
over-pay  !  Did  n't  you  know  we  Californians  dropped 
Troy  weight  in  the  diggings? 

I  had  no  lie  ready  when  mine  host  came  in  with 
your  check  in  his  hand  and  a  thunder  sign  between 
his  eyebrows,  so  I  told  him  the  truth  about  the  pro 
verbial  squeamishness  of  the  true  New  England  con- 


160       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

science,  etc.,  etc.     But  it  was  no  go;  you'll  have  to 
take  it ;  besides,  you  earned  it  fairly  and  squarely  — 
so  don't  be  a  fool.     With  which  personal  admonition 
the  case  for  the  plaintiff  is  closed. 

Yours  fraternally, 

(I  hope  you  appreciate  this  signature  after  the 
admonition.) 

FRANZ  WALDORT. 

(Oh,  Armstrong,  I  've  been  such  an  awful  one  !) 

—  Why  won't  the  Gloire  de  Dijon  roses  bloom  in 
America  as  they  do  here,  like  great  yellow  moons 
flattened  against  the  gray  stone  lintels?  Why  aren't 
there  lochs  instead  of  lakes?  Why  aren't  there 
mountains,  purple  with  heather  blooms,  that  shadow 
the  lochs  which  gleam  like  huge  opals  in  the  after 
glow?  Why  can't  we  live  in  one-roomed  gray  stone 
huts,  with  a  kitchen  grate  in  one  wall  and  a  noble 
red-draperied  bed  in  a  cosy  alcove  in  the  other? 
Why  can't  we  have  pewter  bowls  and  platters  and 
spoons,  and  from  them  eat  delicious  green-goose 
berry  jam,  and  curds  and  cream? 

Why,  oh,  why?  .  .  .  To  all  your  Mountain  deities 
greetings  from  over  the  sea  from  a — just  at  pres 
ent — 

Fair  Maid  of  Perth  !  (St.  Fillan's) 

M.   C. 

Here's  a  photograph  of  the  '"Prentice  Pillar  "in 
Rosslyn  Chapel  —  a  bit  of  real  carving  in  stone 
worth  some  hours  of  worship.  I  feel  as  if  it  were  a 
desecration  to  eat  "  cold  kale  "  even  "  on  Friday  " 
after  seeing  this.  —  Why  can't  we  Americans  apothe 
osize  the  hop-vine  in  some  such  way?  You,  at  least, 


Warp  and  Woof  161 

are  the   pioneer  in  wood.     Do    use    it  all   you  can, 
won't  you?  M.  C. 


SAN  CHRISTOVAL,  September. 
DEAR  ARMSTRONG, 

That  letter  of  yours  did  me  good.  If  there  are 
others  among  your  friends  who  are  lucky  enough  to 
get  that  kind  from  you  once  in  a  lifetime,  they  may 
well  be  envied. 

How  do  you  reach  out  into  all  that  —  cut  off  as 
you  are  from  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  Devil? 

Yes,  I  am  glad  to  tell  you  something  of  my  own 
life;  you  put  it  kindly  enough  — that  it  will  help  you 
to  elucidate  yours.  I  think  it  is  the  other  way  round. 
I  can't  promise  it  will  be  pleasant  reading,  —  but 
here  goes. 

In  the  first  place,  I  was  n't  started  fair,  for  I  don't 
know  who  my  mother  was.  Just  turn  to  one  of  those 
volumes  of  Bret  Harte,  and  find  "  The  Luck  of  Roar 
ing  Camp"  —you'll  get  it  all  there  in  a  nutshell, 
without  annotations  on  my  part,  which  are  n't  neces 
sary  under  the  circumstances. 

My  father  was  a  German  from  the  Harz  region, 
who  had  worked  in  the  mines  in  Saxony,  and  run 
away,  shipping  at  Hamburg  for  the  States,  to  avoid 
conscription. 

My  eyes  opened  on  the  "  diggings,"  and  for  fifteen 
years  my  range  of  vision  was  limited  to  them.  Un 
like  the  "  Luck  "  in  Bret  Harte,  I  had  for  mother's 
milk,  curses,  blows,  and  desertion. 

I  can't  say  how  and  when  my  father  disappeared ; 
I  have  no  recollection  of  seeing  him  after  I  was  nine. 
Some  men  told  me  he  was  carried  off  by  the  typhus 

in  San  Francisco,  where  he  went  yearly  with  his  bags 

ii 


1 62       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

of  gold  dust  for  a  grand  gambling  and  drinking  bout 
A  dirk  knife  with  his  name  on  the  handle,  —  the  name 
is  mine,  —  a  Colt's  revolver,  a  "  lucky  pig  "  (a  German 
trifle  he  carried  in  his  pocket),  a  bag  of  gold  dust 
worth  a  hundred  dollars,  and  twelve  Spanish  doub 
loons  were  delivered  to  me  tied  in  a  shirt-sleeve  by 
the  men  who  came  up  from  'Frisco  with  the  news  of 
his  death. 

How  I  kept  that  heritage,  I  fail  to  understand, 
except  that  at  eleven  I  was  past  master  in  the  use 
of  the  dirk,  as  quick  as  a  weasel  in  my  movements, 
and  as  unexpected,  which  meant  "  hands  off,"  and  a 
good  deal  of  respect  shown  me  in  the  various  camps 
where  I  found  work. 

I  had  panned  gravel,  broken  quartz,  washed  gold, 
dug,  picked,  mined,  frozen,  starved,  baked,  feasted, 
and  rioted,  —  all  before  I  was  fifteen.  Then,  some 
thing  happened. 

I  was  going  down  the  gulch  one  night  to  get  my 
canteen  filled  at  the  settlement  shanty  at  the  lower 
end  ;  in  reality,  it  was  bar-room,  grocery,  post-office, 
gambling-hell,  and  miners'  bourse,  all  in  one.  The 
moon  was  full  and  the  night  cold  —  December  in  the 
Sierras. 

As    I  bore    down   the  trail,  I    heard,  high    above 
me,  the  wickering  squeal  of  a  pack-saddle  mule ;  - 
that   meant  news  from  the  coast.     In  a  moment,  I 
saw  the  flare  of  a  camp-fire,  and,  boy-like,  wanted 
to  know  what  was  up. 

I  was  hampered  in  climbing  by  my  heritage,  which 
I  carried  with  me  night  and  day,  hung  around 
my  neck  beneath  my  shirt;  but  I  risked  it:  toe  in 
one  crevice,  dirk  in  another,  a  pine  root,  hand  over 
hand,  a  trapeze  act  or  two,  —  and  I  lay  out  on  a 


Warp  and  Woof  163 

branch  on  a  level  with  the  camp-fire  and  the  group 
about  it. 

I  have  been  told,  Armstrong,  that  there  is  in  every 
man's  life  a  moment  for  conversion  —  whether  he  avail 
himself  of  it  or  not.  That  was  mine. 

It  would  be  wholly  impossible  for  me  to  formulate 
the  change  that  took  place  in  me ;  but  change  there 
was. 

A  man  was  reading  by  the  light  of  the  fire  the 
story  of  "  Little  Nell."  For  four  nights  running,  I 
crawled  up  there  at  the  risk  of  life  and  limb,  and 
when  at  last  they  laid  Her  away,  Life,  for  a  time, 
was  a  blank  to  me. 

By  the  next  train  of  pack-mules  I  went  to  the 
coast.  There  had  come  upon  me  a  madness  of  long 
ing  to  get  away  from  it  all;  to  roam,  to  wander  in 
other  lands,  of  which  I  had  heard  so  many  tales  by 
the  camp-fires  in  the  mountains;  to  see  something  of 
the  world  besides  the  Sierras,  the  gulches,  the  placer- 
mines  ;  in  fact,  something  other  than  the  "  diggings." 

I  worked  for  six  months  as  stevedore  for  the  coast 
wise  vessels  at  'Frisco,  then  shipped  as  cabin-boy 
on  a  brigantine  bound  for  Australia.  But  I  was  no 
true  salt.  Arrived  at  Melbourne,  the  old  life  laid 
hold  of  me  again,  and  drew  me  back  into  the  Aus 
tralian  Alps,  into  the  "  diggings,"  and  there  I  squan 
dered  life  and  substance  for  another  year.  Again 
came  the  longing  to  roam,  and  I  fled,  shipping  for 
Singapore  and  the  Straits  Settlements.  In  Singapore 
I  got  hold  of  a  half  dozen  of  Dickens'  works  — 
second  hand.  Old  Curiosity  Shop  was  among  them 
—  and  a  well-thumbed  volume  of  The  Subterranean 
World.  All  the  books  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
through  the  cholera  and  black  plague  combined,  but 


164      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

I  knew  I  'd  struck  a  vein  which  I  proposed  to  work 
for  all  it  was  worth.  And  then  I  turned  another 
corner. 

As  I  wrote  you  once,  I  had  had  "  stones  for  bread," 
for  playthings  also ;  for  a  pillow,  as  well  as  a  defence, 
ever  since  I  could  remember  anything; — and  what 
was  more  natural  than  that  I  should  look  to  stones 
for  my  future? 

I  can't  say  how  it  came  about  —  it  was  an  adolescent 
process,  I  suppose,  but  the  result  was  plain  enough. 
I  familiarized  myself  with  the  physical  features  — 
especially  the  mountains  —  of  every  new  country 
upon  which  I  set  foot.  I  shipped  again,  for  Borneo, 
and  its  gold  mines  kept  me  six  months.  While  there 
I  fell  in  with  a  Dutchman,  or  more  properly  a  Boer, 
and  from  him  I  caught  the  South  African  fever.  I 
had  it  hard,  and  theKimberley  diamond  diggings  held 
me  chained  for  two  years  —  but  what  am  I  thinking 
of!  It  is  late,  half-past  one  in  the  morning! 

A  full  moon  silvers  every  pine-top  in  the  gorge ; 
—  Do,  Armstrong,  read  that  immortal  poem  of  Bret 
Harte's  in  the  second  volume,  "  Dickens  in  Camp." 
It  belongs  to  the  world,  but  to  me  especially,  as  a 
Californian  —  and  tell  me  if  for  true,  inward  human- 
ness,  there  has  been,  in  America,  its  equal. 

"  Above  the  pines  the  moon  was  slowly  drifting, 
The  river  sang  below  ; 
The  dim  Sierras  far  beyond  uplifting 
Their  minarets  of  snow." 

Armstrong,  I  tell  you,  a  man  knows  the  good  of 
being  a  man  when  he  feels  that  uplift.  Thank  God,  I 
was  born  a  Californian  ! 

Yours, 

F.  W. 


Warp  and  Woof  165 

I  'm  sending  just  a  word,  in  season,  to  bespeak 
from  Twiddie  another  box  —  a  much  bigger  one  — 
of  that  "maple-sugar-butternut"  candy  such  as  she 
sent  me  last  year. 

I  had  to  give  in  when  that  melted  in  my  mouth ; 
—  we  can't  furnish  that  in  California;  you  New  Eng- 
landers  go  ahead  of  us  there. 

Tell  Twiddie,  for  me,  that  for  the  box  of  candy 
—  I  take  it  for  granted  she  will  send  me  some  —  I 
propose  to  trade  with  her  on  reciprocity  terms ;  a 
box  of  our  Brobdingnagian  fruits  for  a  box  of  her 
butternut  candy.  How  is  that,  Armstrong,  for  a  com 
promise  with  free  trade? 

I  send  the  box  by  express  to-day;  it  is  well- 
packed,  the  shippers  say,  to  withstand  anything  above 
zero.  I  shall  write  soon. 

Yours,  in  haste, 

FRANZ  W. 

SAN  CHRISTOVAL,  December. 

It 's  about  as  you  say,  Armstrong :  —  every  think 
ing  man  has  a  hard  row  to  hoe  between  twenty-three 
and  thirty,  I  don't  care  whether  he  's  a  Porphyro- 
genitus  or  a  gutter-genitus — it's  all  the  same  in  the 
end  if  he  use  his  head-piece  as  an  instrument  for  any 
modicum  of  soul  he  may  have. 

You  did  n't  feel  me  grip  your  hand  the  other  night, 
did  you,  about  eight,  Eastern  time? 

Well,  I  did.  I  reached  right  out  across  the  conti 
nent,  after  reading  your  letter,  and  gripped  hard,  for 
it  was  the  only  way  I  could  express  rationally  my 
feeling  of  fellowship  on  the  subject  of  your  own  out- 
reaching  for  more  light  in  that  other  world  of  what 
other  men  have  thought,  felt,  known,  suflfered,  en- 


1 66       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

joyed,  proved,  tested,  examined  of  Life's  heights  and 
depths  and  everyday  levels  since  recorded  Time  —  in  a 
word,  books,  whether  of  parchment,  papyrus,  brooks, 
mountain-folds,  or  stones. 

I  'm  with  you  there  every  time. 
It  was  that  craving,  that  longing  to  be  in  touch 
with  some  other  life  than  that  to  which  I  had  been 
born,  and  which  I  perceived  —  but  only  dimly  —  to 
be  attainable  for  me  through  books  and  study,  that,  in 
the  end,  put  a  stop  to  my  rovings  and  anchored  me 
for  four  years. 

From  Cape  Town  I  took  passage  to  Amsterdam, 
and  from  there  to  Gothenburg.  I  wanted  to  see  the 
iron  mines  of  Sweden.  I  had  made  my  little  pile  of 
a  thousand  dollars,  and  had  I  eschewed  gambling 
and  drinking,  I  should  have  had  twice  as  much. 

There  in  the  iron  mines  of  Dannemora  I  worked 
for  three  months  side  by  side  with  an  American  —  a 
son  of  one  of  our  Iron  Kings :  a  heavy-featured,  big- 
headed,  persistent  sort  of  a  chap,  who  was  learning 
the  trade  root  and  branch.  He  spoke  Swedish  fairly 
well,  and  when  he  found  I  was  an  American  with  a 
sneaking  fondness  for  the  contents  of  our  Mother 
Earth's  bowels  of  mercy,  he  spoke  a  good  word 
for  me  with  the  superintendent,  and  so  gave  me  a 
boost. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  time  I  went  over  to 
his  rooms  on  invitation.  I  quit  work,  washed  up,  and 
changed  my  shirt,  and  then  went  over  to  dinner  at 
seven.  He  had  his  own  menage,  —  a  half-dozen 
rooms  and  two  servants,  —  and  I  sat  down  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  at  a  gentleman's  private  table.  A 
year  or  two  ago  I  dined  with  him  in  his  own  mansion 
in  an  Eastern  city,  and  I  assure  you,  Armstrong,  all 


Warp  and  Woof  167 

its  elegance  made  no  such  impression  upon  me  as 
that  modest  dining-room,  the  salon,  and  the  little 
library  with  its  book  treasures. 

I  sweat  through  the  first  two  courses,  for  it  was 
my  initiation,  remember,  and  I  was  awkward  with  the 
tools  !  But  after  that  I  felt  better,  and  forgot  myself 
so  far  as  to  stretch  my  long  legs  under  the  table,  put 
my  shoulders  against  the  chair-back,  and  get  my  hands 
out  of  my  way.  A  good  smoke  in  the  library  after 
wards  made  it  all  plain  sailing. 

When  we  were  well  on  with  the  third  pipe,  that 
chap  began  to  talk  to  me  like  a  grandfather.  He  was 
about  twenty-four. 

He  said  I  was  n't  making  the  most  of  my  oppor 
tunities  —  I  'd  have  drawn  my  dirk  on  a  man  in  the 
"diggings"  for  less  plain  speech  than  that;  but,  you 
see,  the  environment  made  the  difference,  and,  more 
over,  it  was  after  dinner  —  that  I  had  the  natural 
endowment,  and  all  I  needed  was  the  equipment; 
that  it  was  my  own  fault  if  I  did  n't  get  it;  that  if  I 
could  n't  get  a  university  education,  I  ought  to  ap 
proximate  to  it  by  study  and  travel ;  that  I  had  such 
a  gift  for  languages  I  ought  to  try  Latin  and  Greek. 
Finally,  he  wound  up  with  advising  me  to  buy  a  good 
Scotch  tweed  suit,  English  make,  and  slough  off  the 
miner's  garb  after  work  hours. 

I  want  you  to  realize,  Armstrong,  that  all  this  was 
from  a  multi-millionaire's  son  to  a  scion  of  the  Sierra 
gulches.  Moreover,  all  this  advice  was  gratis  —  he 
drew  the  line  right  at  the  pocket,  for  he  made  no 
offer  of  a  pistole  towards  furthering  this  much-to-be- 
desired  consummation. 

When  he  had  finished,  I  opened  fire  on  him  by  ask 
ing  him  from  what  university  he  had  been  graduated. 


1 68      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

You  should  have  seen  how  he  wilted,  Armstrong  !  And 
I  asked  all  in  good  faith,  too. 

But  he  owned  up  fair  and  square  that  he  had 
been  expelled  for  high  jinks  in  his  second  year,  and 
could  n't  take  a  degree  from  any  university.  That 's 
why  he  was  there,  trying  by  his  devotion  to  the 
business  to  make  up  to  his  father  for  the  thing  his 
father  had  set  his  heart  upon  —  and  couldn't  have. 
We  got  on  still  better  after  that,  and  the  upshot  of  it 
was,  that  when  he  left  for  America,  I  stayed  on  for 
two  years  with  the  use  of  all  his  books,  and  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  a  professor  of  science  in  Upsala 
University,  which  unlocked  for  me  treasures  untold. 

I  began  to  count  my  wealth  from  that  time.  Act 
ing  on  the  advice  of  the  professor,  I  decided  to  take 
the  four  years'  course  of  mining  and  engineering  at 
the  famous  School  of  Mines  in  Freiberg,  Saxony.  To 
this  end  I  worked  like  a  Turk,  and  went  thither  when 
the  professor  thought  I  was  sufficiently  prepared,  and 
spent  my  time,  during  the  summer  that  followed,  in 
the  Harz  region,  whence  came  the  man  who  begot 
me.  I  worked  for  a  while  in  the  various  mines  there, 
and  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  whole  region,  in 
cluding  the  smelting  stations. 

How  I  wish  all  this  were  by  telephone !  —  then 
you  could  "  ring  off"  to  shut  me  up.  I  don't  seem  to 
know  when  to  stop.  Sometimes  I  think  I  '11  save  all 
this  to  say  through  the  smoke  of  our  corn-cob  pipes 
in  the  Pen  next  summer;  but  the  disturbance  from 
that  upheaval  I  mentioned  is  still  very  great,  and  just 
at  this  time  this  opening  up  to  you  gives  me  a  neces 
sary  vent. 

I  am  glad  all  of  you  are  enjoying  the  fruits ;  there 
is  a  largeness,  a  natural  amplitude  about  them  that, 


Warp  and  Woof  169 

somehow,  belongs  to  our  state  — but  don't  think  I  'm 
boasting!  I'm  humble  enough  when  I  think  of  those 
wood-strawberries,  and  the  delicious  New  England 
candy. 

If  you  could  see  my  state  from  the  Sierras  to  the 
Sequoias,  you  'd  know  what  I  mean.  Greetings  to  all. 

Yours, 

FRANZ  WALDORT. 

HILDESHEIM,  GERMANY. 

Christmas  greetings  to  all  on  Olympus !  How 
would  it  seem,  think  you,  to  live  in  a  carved  house 
that  stands  on  a  carved  market-place,  its  nine-story 
houses  wrought  and  painted  to  the  apex  of  the  gables, 
and  its  huge  stone  fountain  sculptured  into  quaint 
forms  ? 

And  the  carved  market-place  is  in  a  carved  town 
where  post  and  lintel,  frieze  and  cornice,  gable  and 
casement  run  riot  with  carvings  of  animate  and  inani 
mate  things  —  grewsome,  graceful,  grotesque !  Hilde- 
sheim  is  the  illuminated  initial  letter  in  the  missal 
of  German  art.  How  I  wish  you  might  see  it ! 

We  are  here  for  the  fair.  Oh,  if  Twiddie  were  only 
with  me  !  In  the  box  I  have  sent  for  all  of  you  on 
Olympus  —  in  the  care  of  my  uncle,  Mr.  Malory  —  I 
have  put  some  photographs  of  these  ancient  carved 
buildings.  Bishop  Bernward  set  his  people  the  good 
example  more  than  eight  hundred  years  ago.  —  There 
are  the  vesper  bells  ringing  from  his  cathedral,  which 
is  ten  minutes'  walk  from  here.  I  must  be  off  to  that 
service;  —  Catholic?  Yes,  but  it's  all  one  to  me  so 
long  as  the  stones  were  raised  in  His  name.  — 

I  'm  just  back  from  the  service.  I  like  to  think  of 
you  as  a  young  Bernward  living  out  his  idealism  in 


170      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

Art's  service  away  up  there  on  your  New  England 
mountain-top.  Indeed,  dear  friend,  if  these  detached 
bits  of  the  mosaic  of  my  life  over  here  give  you  the 
pleasure  you  say  they  do,  —  as  you  express  it,  "en 
rich  my  life  beyond  measure,"  —  be  sure  I  shall  keep 
right  on  sending  them  to  you. 

Perhaps  I,  too,  am  a  debtor  —  to  you.  But  I'm 
not  going  to  tell  you  how.  That  is  n't  playing  fair, 
is  it?  Well,  perhaps,  sometime  —  I  don't  know.  I 
told  you  it  was  a  thorn.  — 

I  have  thought  so  much  of  what  you  said  in  a  recent 
letter.  You  say  you  are  convinced  a  man  has  nothing 
but  his  will  with  which  to  meet  Life ;  that  "  deliberate 
valor  "  is  the  only  safeguard  against  temptations  that 
beset  a  man's  weaknesses.  True  —  but  —  Well,  I  wish 
you  would  look  for  just  one  verse  in  your  new  volume 
of  Browning;  seek  for  it,  please,  and  when  you  will 
have  found  it,  learn  it,  and  say  it  over  to  yourself  in 
those  night-watches  of  which  you  write  me;  after 
wards,  ponder  it  in  your  heart.  Here  it  is: 

"  All  I  could  never  be, 
All,  men  ignored  in  me, 

This,  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher 
shaped." 

That  is  what  I  felt  when  I  saw  you. 

OAKLAND,  CALIFORNIA,  January,  189- 
DEAR  ARMSTRONG, 

I  had  such  a  letter  from  Twiddie  the  other  day ! 
Enough  to  warm  the  cockles  of  a  childless  man's 
heart  through  and  through.  Give  her  my  love,  and 
tell  her  that  if  a  small  Christmas  gift  of  an  Indian 
basket  can  give  her  such  pleasure,  I  shall  send  her 


Warp  and  Woof  171 

without  delay  a  Navajo  squaw's  blanket  to  match  the 
basket.  That  will  mean,  of  course,  on  the  reciprocity 
principle,  another  long  letter  from  her.  — 

I  don't  know,  Armstrong,  —  I  don't  know  about 
that  last  hypothesis  of  yours.  We  get  hammered  into 
shape,  or  out  of  shape,  whether  we  will  or  no,  and  in 
the  end  —  But,  God  knows,  I  Ve  no  right,  as  a  man, 
to  measure  myself  with  you. 

All  this  talk  about  "  ordained  dimensions  "  sounds 
well;  there's  a  set  of  men  —  an  Eastern  importation 
—  here  in  the  University,  who  ring  so  many  changes  on 
that  theme,  that  the  soul  grows  deaf;  —  how  stands  it 
with  the  deeds?  With  the  facts ? 

In  any  case,  let  me  know  if  your  hypothesis  prove 
a  working  one.  It  looks  that  way  now,  and  I  am 
ready  to  be  convinced. 

I  'm  beginning  to  understand,  through  your  letters, 
the  satisfaction  a  man  may  get  in  looking  at  himself 
under  the  microscope  just  once  in  his  lifetime.  I 
don't  take  much  stock  in  those  men  who  spend  their 
strength  in  self-analysis;  they  wabble  too  much  to 
suit  me  and  my  views  of  life.  But,  just  at  this  time, 
I  count  myself  fortunate  in  having  a  friend  to  whom  I 
can  "  open  up";  Olympus  can  keep  its  own  counsel, 
and  —  Jove  reigns. 

It  was  in  my  third  year  at  Freiberg  that  I  met 
Her,  —  no  need  to  write  the  name ;  it 's  a  nasty 
wound,  and  just  to  see  the  initials  opens  it  afresh. 
I  suppose  you  Ve  thought  all  along  that  a  woman's 
hand  has  been  on  my  lever. 

It  was  in  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  just  above  Dres 
den.  I  had  been  tramping  through  it  for  a  month, 
enjoying  to  the  full  the  summer  vacation  —  it  was  such 
a  fine,  free  life  !  —  and  one  day,  as  I  was  strolling  up 


172       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

a  valley  that  in  its  ascent  to  the  heights  narrows  to  a 
ravine,  chipping  and  ringing  with  my  hammer  here 
and  there,  as  is  always  my  wont  when  examining  a 
new  crease  or  wrinkle  in  Dame  Nature's  wonderful 
mantle,  I  stepped  aside  from  the  narrow,  rocky  path 
to  allow  passage  for  a  train  of  mountain  horses  coming 
up  behind  me. 

I  heard  the  gay  voices  of  girls,  the  merry  jest  and 
laughter,  and  recognized  my  countrywomen  of  whom 
I  had  seen  but  few  and  known  not  one  during  my 
years  of  roving.  Then  I  heard  the  voice  of  "  mine 
host "  greeting  me.  I  must  say,  that  man  has  never 
failed  me.  He  did  n't  then.  His  father  was  off  in 
Leadville  somewhere,  working  to  let  his  wife  and 
children  splurge  in  Europe.  They  knew  how  to  do 
it  too.  "  Mine  host  "  was  a  student  with  the  rest  of 
us  in  Freiberg,  but  lived  like  a  swell,  — big  bachelor 
apartment,  two  servants,  etc.  The  mother  and  three 
sisters  had  been  in  Paris.  Consequently,  I  had  never 
seen  them. 

He  had  been  running  up  to  Dresden  pretty  regu 
larly  once  or  twice  a  week  during  the  last  winter,  but 
I  never  suspected  why,  until  I  saw  the  look  on  his 
face  when  he  introduced  me  to  the  girl  whose  horse's 
bridle  he  was  holding.  That  was  enough.  I  knew 
he  was  hard  hit. 

He  found  out  later  that  "  the  golden  key  unlocks 
all  doors  but  Heaven's  "  —  and  that,  I  take  it,  Arm 
strong,  is  a  true  woman's  heart.  At  least,  that 's  my 
idea  of  Heaven  —  all  I  care  to  know  of  it.  He  has 
never  married ;  could  n't,  in  fact,  until  the  last  two 
years,  for  he  has  had  his  whole  family  to  support, 
and  in  a  luxury  to  which  they  were  not  born  —  far 
from  it !  That 's  what  makes  me  mad  ! 


Warp  and  Woof  173 

From  the  moment  I  saw  her,  Armstrong,  there  in 
the  Amsel  Grund,  that  queer  blank  that  was  left  in 
my  boy's  life  when  they  laid  Little  Nell  away  under  the 
pines  of  the  Sierras  beneath  the  December  moon 
light,  was  filled,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  but 
just  begun  to  know  the  thing  called  Life. 

In  the  fall,  "  mine  host"  gave  a  lunch  to  half  the 
young  American  colony  in  Dresden,  and  the  few 
Americans  among  the  students  acted  as  ushers  in 
the  inspection  of  the  silver  mines.  Then  I  saw  her 
again,  so  joyous,  so  interested  in  everything,  with  a 
charm  of  manner  beyond  any  I  have  ever  seen  since 
in  girls. 

You  have  seen  her  on  Olympus.  The  face  and 
figure  have  changed  but  little,  only,  the  promise 
of  her  girlhood  has  been  richly  fructified,  and  the 
woman's  charm  has  been  enhanced  a  hundred-fold. 

I  fairly  gambled  with  happiness,  Armstrong,  arid 
grew  as  reckless  in  the  new  dispensation  as  I  had 
been  in  the  old  —  only,  with  a  difference.  I  bought 
a  dress  suit  and  accessories  —  my  pile  had  diminished 
to  three  hundred  dollars  during  the  student  years ; 
I  contributed  to  the  ball  fund ;  I  took  private  dancing 
lessons ;  I  borrowed  a  book  on  etiquette  from  one  of 
our  mess,  a  Californian  like  myself;  I  made  a  clean 
sweep  of  my  beard  and  mustache,  and,  at  last,  at  the 
Freiberg  ball  which  we  gave  in  December  to  the 
American  girls  ("  mine  host "  was  leader  in  all  this, 
and  set  the  pace)  my  courage  failed  me  —  and  I 
did  n't  ask  her  to  dance ! 

How  that  girl — she  was  only  nineteen  —  man 
aged  to  open  up  her  world  to  me,  I  can't  say.  I  had 
a  note  from  her  aunt,  a  gracious  Southern  gentle 
woman,  asking  me  to  make  one  of  a  party  at  the 


174       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

skating  carnival  in  the  Grosser  Garten  in  Dresden 
during  the  December  holidays.  And  when  that  was 
over,  there  was  a  little  dance  at  her  house,  and  after 
wards  a  ball  for  "  mine  host's  "  sisters.  I  was  there 
every  time. 

Time  and  again,  during  those  days,  I  had  an  in 
ward  vision — of  myself  as  a  factor  in  the  midnight 
orgy  in  the  settlement  shanty,  or  as  a  reveller  in  the 
purlieus  of  Melbourne,  and  a  terrible  soul-nausea 
would  attack  me.  I  began  to  realize  I  was  handi 
capped  by  my  ancestry,  by  my  early  environment,  by 
the  years  of  dissipation  —  and  I  suffered ;  but,  I 
thank  God,  it  was  the  travail  of  re-birth. 

You  see,  Armstrong,  I  had  n't  come  into  any 
realization  of  my  Americanhood.  I  had  gone  from 
the  Pacific  coast  ten  years  before,  unwitting  that 
behind  the  rocky  wall  of  the  Sierras  lay  another 
America,  to  which  I  was  a  stranger,  —  to  its  customs, 
to  its  traditions,  to  its  civilization.  In  entering  Europe 
by  way  of  Asia,  I  had  found  before  me  the  Chinese 
wall  of  caste  separation  reared  by  the  hands  of  a 
hundred  generations;  and  between  those  two  ram 
parts  my  life  of  twenty-five  years  had  been  spent. 

A  man's  rough  exterior  may  lose  the  point  of  its 
angles  in  contact  with  other  men  —  it 's  only  a  woman's 
hand  that  can  use  the  rotten-stone,  and  polish. 

What  that  girl  did  for  me  !  I  don't  believe  she 
knew  she  was  doing  it,  either. 

Her  kindness  to  me  and  thoughtfulncss  of  me 
were  just  the  simple  surface  drainage  of  an  unspoiled, 
unselfish,  genial  soul.  She  was  an  art-lover  —  not  a 
dabbler  in  art,  like  the  thousands  of  women  of  to-day, 
but  a  true  worshipper  of  the  best  in  painting,  litera 
ture,  music.  And  the  best  belonged  by  right  to  her. 


Warp  and  Woof  175 

You  '11  think  I'm  idealizing  in  this  —  but  if  you  could 
know  her ! 

So  I  was  drawn  by  the  best  of  leading-strings  — 
a  gentlewoman  —  to  the  best  in  Art;  and  the  Dresden 
Gallery,  the  music,  the  opera  and  concerts,  the  won 
derful  collections  of  porcelain,  and  treasures  wrought 
in  silver,  ivory,  and  gold,  became  mine  for  a  trifling 
sum. 

That's  one  of  the  glories  of  that  old  country  — 
Life's  doors  swing  outwards  for  the  Poor  into  the 
regions  of  Art. 

A  year  after  she  left  Dresden  I  took  my  doctor's 
degree,  and  the  first  thing  I  did,  Armstrong,  was  to 
go  down  again  into  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  into  the 
Amsel  Grund,  and  there,  on  the  spot  where  I  had  first 
seen  her,  vow  to  make  myself  worthy  of  her;  to 
purify  my  life  in  act  and  thought,  and  to  keep  myself 
unspotted  from  the  world  —  if  there  was  strength 
enough  of  manhood  in  me.  It  was  only  so  that  I 
could  realize  to  myself  my  love  for  her. 

My  funds  were,  by  this  time,  at  lowest  ebb,  and  I 
took  what  work  I  could  find  wherever  it  could  be 
found,  —  anything,  everything,  to  earn  an  honest 
thaler,  till  I  made  my  way  down  into  the  Dolomites  — 
a  region  I  had  long  wished  to  examine  —  and  from 
there  into  the  Oetz  Valley,  where  I  lived  with  Tyrolean 
peasants,  one  with  them  if  not  of  them  —  a  simple, 
quiet  mountain-life  in  the  higher  Alps.  Two  years  I 
gave  there  to  the  writing  of  those  volumes  I  sent  you. 
I  got  them  printed  in  Berlin,  and  they  opened  the 
scientific  fraternity  to  me.  Thus  equipped,  I  turned 
my  face  homewards,  entering  America  this  time  by 
the  front  door,  and  knocked  at  the  portals  of  the 
young  University  of  my  native  state.  They  let  me  in ; 


176      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

and  I  thought  then,  "  Now  I  Ve  just  a  straight  road, 
with  no  turning,  to  Her !  "  But  I  did  n't  know,  Arm 
strong,  —  I  did  n't  know.  How  could  I,  born  and 
bred  as  I  was? 

You  '11  think  by  this  time  that  I  have  a  talent  for 
waiting;  so  I  have, —  that  belongs  to  my  trade. 
Mother  Earth  writes  large  with  aeons  of  patience,  and 
a  man  may  well  learn  a  lesson  or  two  from  her. 

Good-night;  I'm  dead  tired — I  know  you  must 
be  by  this  time.  FRANZ  W. 

Easter.  —  Good-morning  !  Just  look  over  your  val 
ley  towards  Killington,  and  if  you  should  see  a  blue 
bird  or  a  swallow  fleck  the  sky  between  you  and  it, 
imagine  it  my  Easter  greeting. 

I  have  celebrated  this  year  in  my  own  way.  — 
Church?  No,  indeed.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
that  on  that  first  Easter  day  they  did  not  find  Him 
in  any  sepulchre  of  stone,  but  abroad  —  on  the  road? 

I,  too,  think  I  found  Him,  at  least  in  a  by-way  of 
the  road.  M.  C. 

DRESDEN,  ALT  STADT. 

—  I  am  so  glad  you  have  that  special  work  for  the 
University  !  No,  indeed,  don't  look  to  Europe  for 
designs.  I  am  sure  you  will  find  enough  native  in 
spiration  on  Olympus.  —  No  wonder  you  love  Franz 
Waldort.  I  do !  I  feel  I  may  say  that  to  you  and 
be  understood ;  for  when  I  meet  with  such  sincer 
ity,  such  straightforwardness  of  purpose,  combined 
with  such  a  queer,  old-fashioned  chivalry  of  manner 
towards  all  of  us  women,  just  because  we  are  women, 
I  find  it  refreshing,  and,  without  exactly  flattering  me, 
it  makes  me  feel  at  peace  with  my  entire  sex,  the 


Warp  and  Woof  177 

world  in  general,  and  my  own  world  in  particular. 
He  is  a  friend  of  whom  any  man  or  woman  may  be 
proud.  I  met  him  in  Dresden  years  ago,  and  knew 
he  would  be  heard  from  sometime. 

—  And  you  do  care  for  those  few  lines  of  Browning? 
And  they  would  mean  so  much  more  to  you  if  you 
could  see  what  I  saw  the  other  day  at  Meissen. 

We  were  at  the  famous  porcelain  works.  As  I 
stood  by  one  of  the  workmen,  I  marvelled  as  I  saw 
the  rough  mass  whirl,  and  bend,  and  curve  into  con 
cave  and  convex  surfaces,  and  assume  its  beautiful 
shape,  although  broken  again  and  again  on  the  wheel 
by  the  skilful  hands. 

The  old  words  came  back  to  me :  "  But  now,  O 
Lord,  thou  art  our  father,  we  are  the  clay  and  thou 
our  potter;  and  we  are  all  the  work  of  thy  hand": 
my  friend  on  the  distant  New  England  mountain-top, 
that  nobleman,  Franz  Waldort,  the  potter  beside 
the  wheel,  the  men  and  women  and  little  children 
that  should  drink  of  the  cup — for  it  was  that 
which  was  being  fashioned  from  the  clay  of  which  I 
am  next  of  kin  !  Oh,  Hugh,  dear  friend,  I  wanted 
you  there  beside  me  to  feel  the  force  of  that  object- 
lesson  ! 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  a  physical  disability 
is  the  least  of  Life's  handicaps  with  which  a  man 
must  reckon? — But,  oh,  when  I  say  all  this,  I  know 
I  should  n't.  What  am  I  to  speak  of  these  things  to 
you  who  have  suffered  such  deprivation?  I,  who 
have  had  everything  except  the  one  thing  a  woman 
must  have  to  be  wholly  content.  But  what  am  I  writ 
ing,  and  why?  It  was  the  potter  at  his  wheel  that 
has  broken  me  in  thought. — May  I  have  a  letter 
soon?  M.  C. 

13 


178      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

DEAR  ARMSTRONG, 

You  may  well  ask,  as  you  did  in  your  last,  why  I 
have  n't  let  myself  be  heard  from  the  last  two  months. 

You  did  n't  consider  that  order  I  sent  you  in 
February  to  the  point  then?  Now,  I  thought  I  was 
doing  a  mighty  friendly  thing  to  get  the  committee 
to  give  it  to  you  !  I  told  them  I  knew  a  man  East  — 
this  is  always  a  good  bait  for  us  Californians,  I  con 
fess —  who  could  give  them  something  worthwhile; 
that  so  long  as  they  were  about  it,  they  might  as  well 
perpetuate  their  names  by  giving  the  University  a 
lasting  memorial  in  real  and,  at  the  same  time,  in 
digenous  Art. 

You  have  been  in  correspondence  with  them,  so 
you  know  what  they  require.  It  will  be  your  monu 
ment,  Armstrong,  and  mine  also,  in  that  I  have  such 
pride  in  your  work.  So  "  Gliick  auf!"  You  say 
you  're  bothered  about  designs  for  the  ceiling,  and 
are  looking  to  Europe  to  help  you  out.  My  advice 
may  be  worth  nothing  in  this  matter,  for  I  am  such  a 
rabid  American  that  I  never  can  see  the  use  of  bor 
rowed  plumes  when  we  have  our  own  ostrich-farms ! 
But  don't  you  think  it  would  be  more  to  the  credit  of 
all  of  us  to  keep  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic? 

You  can  do  it.  You  say  it  will  take  you  a  full  year 
and  a  half,  steady  work  —  and  I  am  glad  to  know  it, 
for  I  shall  soon  be  off  to  South  America  for  a  year  or 
more.  I  welcome  this.  It 's  my  first  sabbatical  year, 
and  I  've  always  wanted  to  tread  in  Humboldt's  foot 
steps  and  make  acquaintance  with  the  Cordilleras.  The 
planning  for  this  —  arranging  the  courses  which  my 
substitute  is  to  give,  marking  out  the  work  for  the 
post-graduates,  two  of  whom  accompany  me  —  has 
filled  my  time. 


Warp  and  Woof  179 

Then,  too,  I  have  delayed  a  little,  knowing  I 
should  close,  with  this  letter,  the  chapter  of  my  life 
I  have  opened  to  you. 

Until  She  marries,  Armstrong,  I  shall  be  only  a 
sleeping  volcano ;  I  know  this,  and  have  accepted  it. 
But,  meanwhile,  I  want  to  give  Nature  a  chance  to 
cover  me  with  her  own  gentle,  softening  growths,  and 
I  'm  going  to  do  all  I  can  to  give  her  that  chance. 

When  She  marries  —  and  I  know  she  must,  some 
time,  no  woman  like  that  should  be  without  a  mate  — 
the  volcano  will  be  extinct;  but  the  surface  growth 
will,  I  trust,  supply  sustenance  for  another,  a  domestic 
love,  or  loves.  I  want  a  home,  Armstrong ;  a  true 
woman  to  love  me ;  I  want  children  to  play  about  my 
hearth ;  I  shall  want  a  change  from  the  homeless, 
unbound  life  I  have  led  so  long  in  my  faithfulness  to 
an  ideal.  I  shall  want  to  be  bound  by  the  ties  of  a 
quiet,  domestic  affection. 

If  there  should  come  a  time  when  some  woman  might 
need  my  protection  and  my  love,  she  should  have 
both ;  but  not  until  I  had  told  her  what  I  have  told 
you, — what  I  tell  you  now.  She  shall  know  all: 
know  that  a  part  of  me  she  can  never  possess,  and 
that  part — God  help  you,  Armstrong,  if  ever  you 
give  that  part  into  a  woman's  keeping,  for  she  will 
hold  it  in  this  world  and  the  next,  if  there  be  one  ! 

There's  no  use; — when  one  soul  lays  hold  upon 
another,  there  is  no  escape,  and  the  worst  —  or  best 
—  of  it  is,  one  does  not  wish  for  it. 

Two  years  ago  I  went  East  for  the  first  time.  I 
had  never  heard  from  her  directly.  She  had  gone  back 
to  her  own,  and  even  "  mine  host,"  who  had  swallowed 
his  bitter  pill  like  a  man,  had  ceased  to  mention  her. 
But  I  took  a  Baltimore  daily,  and  so  kept  track  of 


180       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

her  comings  and  goings  in  that "  other  world  "  of  hers, 
between  her  own  city,  New  York,  Washington,  An 
napolis,  White  Sulphur  Springs,  Bar  Harbor,  and 
Newport. 

In  spirit  I  fought  the  Navy  and  Army  combined, 
challenged  the  East  to  single  combat,  and  cudgelled 
the  entire  South  simply  to  keep  her  intact  —  for  me. 
For  I,  too,  felt  myself  a  man ;  I  had  won  my  spurs 
like  a  man,  and  I  was  n't  going  to  knuckle  to  any  one 
with  a  pedigree  even  if  it  were  as  long  as  the  missing- 
link 's  tail. 

I  had  some  work  for  the  Government  in  Wash 
ington,  and  I  stopped  over  in  Baltimore  to  see  her. 
I  found  her  the  same  genial  soul,  glad,  so  she  said,  to 
renew  her  Dresden  acquaintance.  She  informed  me, 
considerably  to  my  surprise,  that  she  had  been  keep 
ing  track  of  me!  —  that  she  was  so  proud  of  my 
record ;  and  would  I  give  her  the  pleasure  of  allowing 
her  to  present  some  of  her  friends  to  me  — and  more 
of  the  like.  What  is  the  use  of  repeating  it,,  even? 
A  woman  like  that  has  everything  at  her  command 
for  a  man's  enchaining  —  and  I  had  been  hers  already 
so  long. 

But  she  was  so  true  with  it  all,  so  kindly,  so 
friendly,  the  girl's  bright  charm  softened,  yet  enhanced 
to  a  woman's  fascination  !  What  wonder  that  I  lost 
my  head? 

I  have  been  East  every  summer  since,  and  have 
spent  some  portion  of  each  where  she  was.  Little  by 
little,  I  began  to  see  what  her  environment  was,  what 
her  traditions  were,  what  it  meant  to  come  of  a  family 
that  struck  root  into  America's  soil  over  two  hun 
dred  years  ago,  and  during  that  time  had  given  the 
best  of  its  manhood  and  its  womanhood  to  the  up- 


Warp  and  Woof  1 8  1 

building  of  this  country  in  its  Government,  its  Judi 
ciary,  in  its  Defenders  by  land  and  sea. 

But  it  was  the  woman  I  loved  —  realizing  all  the 
time  as  I  did,  more  and  more  clearly,  that  just  thig 
woman  was  a  product  of  her  ancestry,  her  environ 
ment.  Yet  such  was  —  and  is  —  my  faith  in  her, 
that  I  knew  —  and  know — that  where  her  heart  goes 
she  will  follow. 

But  then  another  curious  fact  made  itself  plain  to 
me,  —  "  fixing  "  in  my  consciousness  as  a  film  is  set  on 
a  sensitive-plate,  —  that  she  could  and  would  love  only 
along  the  lines  of  her  heredity,  circumscribed  by  her 
environment;  and  that  even  herein,  she  was  not 
narrowed  in  the  worldly  sense. 

Her  aunt  was  gracious;  her  friends,  men  and 
women,  were  gracious ;  they  could  n't  be  otherwise, 
for  they  were  all  true  Southerners  with  the  blood  that 
warms  and  tempers  our  national  life  to  a  humanness, 
which,  when  it  is  once  known  and  understood,  shows 
that  national  life  at  its  very  best. 

It  was  a  curious  process ;  —  there  was  throughout 
no  disillusionizing,  only  a  gradual  perception  of  con 
ditions,  before  unperceived,  and  with  it,  a  gradual 
weakening  of  my  power  of  will  to  achieve  that  which 
I  had  set  before  me. 

At  last  I  gathered  myself  together — it  was  after 
that  coaching-trip  through  the  Green  Mountains  — 
and  when  I  got  home,  I  wrote  it  all  out  to  her ;  I 
knew  I  could  never  say  it  face  to  face  —  not  my  life. 

And  I  had  such  a  letter  in  return  !  that  —  Well, 
Armstrong,  all  I  can  say  is,  paradoxical  as  it  may 
sound,  that  letter,  while  true  to  herself  and  her 
womanhood,  true  to  me  and  my  manhood,  has  made 
it  possible  for  me  to  love  some  other  woman,  some- 


182       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

time,  I  hope,  the  better  for  it.  More  I  need  not  say; 
-  not  of  this.  I  shall  never  mention  it  again. 

But  I  do  want  to  say,  right  here,  that  it  has  been 
to  me  a  help  to  say  this  to  you. 

Once,  in  the  China  Sea,  our  vessel  was  struck 
by  the  typhoon,  and  all  hands  took  to  what  they  could 
get.  There  was  a  man  in  the  crew  —  second  mate 
—  I  'd  nursed  through  the  Java  fever ;  he  was  still 
weak  from  it,  but  he  had  a  wife  and  two  children  off 
in  one  of  your  New  England  seaports  waiting  for  him, 
and  as  there  was  n't  room  enough  for  all  of  us  who 
had  taken  to  the  catamaran,  and  like  to  be  less  with 
the  madness  that  was  coming  upon  us  through  drought 
and  famine,  I  slipped  off  behind  with  a  plank  and  a 
marline  as  the  dark  fell,  —  quietly  enough,  I  thought ; 
but  in  a  second  there  was  a  splash  beside  me,  and  a 
hand  gripped  mine  :  "  No,  you  don't,  Waldort !  If  you 
go,  by  God,  I  '11  go  too  !  —  Here  — hold  on  to  me." 

And  that  hand  helped  to  save  me,  for,  knowing 
his  weakness,  I  fought  twice  as  hard  for  us  both  dur 
ing  the  next  twenty-four  hours,  till  we  were  picked 
up  more  dead  than  alive. 

Your  letters  have  been  another  such  hand.  God 
bless  you. 

I  sail  next  month  for  the  Isthmus.  Tell  Twiddie 
she  may  order  anything  from  South  America  for 
next  Christmas  from  a  parrot  to  an  electric  eel  —  I 
am  hers  to  command.  I  am  looking  forward  to  this 
work  ;  but  my  letters  will  be  irregular  and  far  between, 
for  I  go  inland  at  once,  away  from  the  ordinary 
channels  of  communication. 

By  the  way,  the  committee  have  told  you  they 
want  California  redwood,  New  England  cherry,  and 
South  American  mahogany?  How  do  you  like  the 


Warp  and  Woof  183 

combination?     Let  me  know  if  I  can  do  anything  at 
my  end  to  help  you. 

I  leave  the  fifteenth —  send  me  a  good  stirrup-cup 
of  a  letter ! 

Yours  (consider  your  hand  gripped  just  here), 

FRANZ  WALDORT. 


FROHE  ALP,  FELSENGARTEN, 

VALLEY  OF  THE  OETZ,  IN  THE  TYROL! 

At  last  I  am  looking  down  upon  your  two-thou 
sand-feet-high  Olympus  from  a  superior  height  of 
three  thousand  feet,  and  am,  in  turn,  looked  down 
upon  by  the  Wildspitze,  one  of  the  monarchs  of  the 
Tyrolean  Alps,  with  its  hundreds  of  attendant  peaks ; 
so  it  is  in  vain  I  try  to  feel  any  superiority. 

Oh,  what  a  mountain-peace  this  is !  This  little 
hamlet  of  Felsengarten  lies  on  a  narrow  plateau  two 
thousand  feet  above  the  river,  that  looks  like  a  mere 
thread  of  silver  interwoven  in  the  black  depths.  At 
this  height  not  a  sound  rises  from  the  valley,  although 
the  water  foams  and  leaps  and  rushes  downward  with 
a  deafening  roar  through  its  gorges  and  ravines. 

Behind  the  hamlet,  which  consists  of  a  dozen  or 
more  houses  straggling  along  the  plateau  and  climbing, 
at  one  end,  to  the  small  church  built  of  dark-timbered 
fir,  rises  the  Frohe  Alp,  or  green,  wide-stretching 
mountain  pastures  where  the  goats  and  cattle  browse. 
On  the  slope  of  this  Alp  is  the  farmhouse  of  a  well- 
to-do  peasant,  Nicodemus  Bendl  —  now,  how  do  you 
like  that  for  a  sturdy  mountaineer's  name?  He  has 
given  us  two  rooms  for  our  own,  and,  I  fear,  crowded 
himself  and  wife  out  of  the  house ;  I  have  yet  to  dis 
cover  where  they  sleep. 

My  room  is  —  don't  be  shocked  —  over  the  cow- 


1 84      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

shed,  and  I  mount  to  it  by  the  cow-shed  stairs !  But 
a  cleaner,  sweeter,  wholesomer  little  room  does  not 
exist  in  the  civilized  world.  For  you  must  know 
our  cows  are  washed  and  scrubbed,  and,  for  aught  I 
know,  perfumed  ;  their  sweet  breath  rises  to  me  in  the 
early  morning,  and,  at  night,  their  beds  of  fresh  straw 
give  forth  a  warm  scent  as  of  dried  herbs.  I  can't 
express  it  or  explain  it,  but  it 's  just  the  wonderful 
breath  of  the  Alps,  pure  with  the  purity  of  virgin 
snows,  and  sweet  with  the  delicious  growths  of  these 
high,  untainted  pastures. 

The  room  is  about  eight  feet  by  ten.  I  have  in 
it  a  chest  for  my  clothes  —  a  carved  one,  too,  —  a 
small  washstand,  a  high-backed  chair  of  some  dark 
wood,  and  a  narrow  bed  furnished  with  two  coarse 
sheets,  white  as  the  driven  snow,  a  moss-and-straw- 
filled  mattress,  and  a  faather-bed  for  my  coverlet 
cased  in  dark  blue,  loosely  woven  woollen.  On  the 
wall,  over  the  head  of  the  bed,  is  a  wooden  crucifix. 

My  one  window  takes  up  half  the  narrow  end  of 
the  room,  and  is  provided  with  a  kind  of  wooden 
eyelid  that  opens  in  the  roof  and  is  propped  on  a 
stick  set  in  a  wooden  socket.  I  keep  this  eyelid 
open  all  the  time,  and  the  view  from  it  is  the  moun 
tain-sea  of  the  Oetzthaler  Alps,  the  white  crests  of 
its  great  rock  waves  caught  in  marvellous  folds  and 
plications.  Just  to  see  the  morning  come,  kindling 
its  light  from  beacon  peak  to  beacon  peak  till  the 
whole  serrated  horizon  flashes  with  rose  and  gold  — 

There  's  no  telling  it. 

Tuesday. 

But  there  is  telling  of  the  simple  life  here ;  of  our 
black  bean  soup  —  what  if  we  do  eat  it  from  wooden 


Warp  and  Woof  185 

bowls?  —  of  the  delicious  roast  goose  stuffed  with 
apples  and  plums,  and  the  plums,  themselves,  purple 
for  the  stuffing,  and  golden,  big  as  goose  eggs  for  my 
breakfast,  which  consists  in  addition  of  a  bowl  of 
goat's  milk,  a  new-laid  egg,  a  square  of  black  bread 
and  a  small  morning  churning  of  unsalted  butter.  — 

Wednesday. 

I  have  been  wanting  to  send  you  something  that 
would  bring  this  mountain  life  nearer  to  you,  but 
what  has  puzzled  me  till  yesterday,  when  I  went  into 
&  low-ceiled  room  in  one  of  the  village  houses  where 
a  chamois-hunter,  crippled  for  life  by  an  accident  on 
the  glacier  of  the  Donnerjoch  just  above  our  house, 
was  carving  the  Liliputian  figures  of  chamois,  goat, 
dog,  and  hunter.  Tiny?  You  will  see  by  what  I 
send  you ;  for  I  have  chosen  a  dozen  of  the  frail 
things,  packed  them  in  cotton  wool,  and  sent  them 
by  post,  in  the  care  of  my  uncle  on  account  of  the 
customs.  The  whole  collection  can  be  set  up  on 
the  surface  of  a  silver  dollar ;  —  and  such  strong, 
big-knuckled,  brown,  peasant  hands  that  carve  the 
dainty  things ! 

I  thought  of  you,  and  told  him  of  your  work  and 
your  mountain  home.  He  was  delighted,  and  has 
sent  you  a  chamois-beard  he  used  to  wear  in  his  best 
cap ;  I  have  put  that  in  the  package.  He  said  when 
I  left  him : 

"You'll  tell  him,  —  won't  you,  Fraulein  Madeline? 
—  that  fine  fellow  over  yonder,  that  when  a  broken 
chamois-hunter  like  me  thinks  of  him,  I  take  good 
courage  again  to  live."  —  I  am  sending  you  to-day  a 
little  German  Tale,  Der  Herrgottschnitzer  von  Am- 
mergau.  There  is  a  translation,  I  believe,  The  Cruci- 


i  86       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

fix-carver  of  Ammergan,  but  you  will  enjoy  it  more  in 
the  original.  I  am  so  glad  you  have  conquered  the 
German.  —  Gruss*  Gott ! 


—  All  that  you  say  makes  me  feel  humbled  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  word.  Isn't  it  queer?  Just  the 
moment  we  free  ourselves  from  conventions  —  and 
the  soul  is  bound  by  them  at  times  as  with  an  iron 
ring  —  the  good  begins  to  work,  unwittingly  to  us, 
but  surely,  both  to  ourselves  and  others. 

Now  see  how  all  this  came  about.  I  knew  I  was 
eight  years  your  senior,  knew  that  your  horizon  line 
and  mine  had  never  coincided,  knew  that  it  would 
need  but  a  word  to  deprive  myself  of  the  joy,  which, 
with  only  a  woman's  intuition  for  an  excuse,  I  foresaw 
would  be  mine  in  that  remote,  mountain-companion 
ship  of  yours  —  and  I  neither  spoke  the  word,  nor 
have  I  written  it  since.  I  couldn't — and  I  don't 
know  why  either. 

I  saw  that  you  were  a  thinking,  feeling,  suffering 
man,  and  a  thinking  man's  age  is  not  to  be  measured  by 
years  ;  so  I  cast  that  barrier  to  the  winds.  That  you 
had  a  heart  that  trouble  and  deprivation  had  not  been 
able  to  embitter  was  shown  to  me  in  a  dozen  ways 
during  those  three  hours  on  Olympus  ;  for  was  there 
not  the  expression  of  yourself  in  the  lovely  "  Pen  "? 
and  your  manner  towards  Twiddle  and  your  "  Aunt 
Lize  "?  and  the  carvings,  with  the  seasons'  life  almost 
visible  in  them?  and  the  books  and  the  David? 

That  you  had  suffered,  both  physically  and  spirit 
ually,  was  plain  enough,  written  large  in  your  face. 
Then,  too,  your  Aunt  told  me  how  black  the  shadow 
had  been  that  had  rested  so  long  upon  you,  and  be 
cause  upon  you,  upon  them,  —  for  they  adore  you; 


Warp  and  Woof  187 

(if  you  could  see  Twiddle's  letters  !  — but  you  can't). 
Yes,  they  do ;  and  when  Mrs.  Lewis  told  me,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  that  our  coming  would  bring  new 
life  into  your  life,  I  just  squeezed  her  hand  hard,  and 
tried  to  say  that  perhaps  the  indebtedness  was  n't 
wholly  on  our  side,  which  I  have  long  since  discovered 
to  be  a  fact. 

That  hand-squeeze,  which   we   two   women    gave 
each  other,  and — yes,   I  will  confess   everything  — 
that  quiet  holding  of  my  hand  in  the  way  you  held 
it  when  I  said  "  Good-by,"  broke  the  last  rail  of  any 
imaginary  fence  that  was  hedging  me  in. 

I  know  all  this  isn't  the  "thorn,"  —  but  I  don't 
feel  thorny  to-day.  I  am  going  down  with  Nicodemus 
to  Felsengarten  to  see  my  chamois-hunter.  I  've 
ordered  a  quantity  of  those  figurines  to  send  home  to 
various  people  for  Christmas,  and  he  is  to  carve  a 
crucifix  for  you,  to  illustrate  the  Ammergau  story. 

He  is  the  dearest  fellow !  Sings  at  his  work, 
plays  the  zither  to  distraction,  and  makes  loving, 
longing  eyes  at  the  prettiest  Sennerin  in  the  village. 
She  ought  to  wear  a  bright  skirt  with  an  embroidered 
bodice,  and  yards  of  silver  chain  about  her  neck; 
but,  instead,  she  goes  gowned  in  plain  linsey-woolsey, 
barefooted,  to  drive  the  goats  of  the  high-peasant,  for 
whom  she  works,  up  to  feed  with  Nicodemus's,  now 
that  the  pastures  are  failing.  I  see  the  kernel  of  a 
romance  in  this,  and  shall  prepare  the  ground  in  the 
most  practical  way  —  enrich  it  with  a  prospective 
bride's  dowry  for  Trudel ;  that's  her  name. 

I  know  she  loves  him,  for  she  told  me  so!  —  up 
there  on  the  Frohe  Alp,  at  the  very  entrance  to  the 
ice-world,  where  we  opened  our  hearts  to  each 
other. 


1 88       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"  Now,  you  see,  Fraulein  Madeline, "  she  said, 
brushing  aside  a  little  heap  of  snow  to  let  free  a  tiny 
blue  gentian,  "the  world  Isn't  all  ice  and  snow,  and 
warm  hearts  make  sunshine  enough ;  and  if  I  had  a 
herd  of  goats  and  a  cow,  I  'd  marry  him  to-morrow 
in  spite  of  himself — that  is,  if  he'd  have  me  —  but 
he  won't  speak,  Fraulein  Madeline !  So  what  am  I 
to  do?  With  no  goats,  no  chest,  even,"  (that  is 
the  peasant-girl's  linen-dowry)  "  only  my  two  willing 
hands,  my  ready  feet,  and  one  loving  heart  — 

Of  course  I  made  up  my  mind  it  must  be,  —  I 
simply  can't  leave  here  till  he  speaks ;  besides,  I  have 
a  strong  fellow-feeling  with  Trudel  —  and  all  because 
of  that  "  thorn,"  of  which  surely  a  prick  in  my  next 
letter. 

Nicodemus  is  ready  with  a  kind  of  wooden  creel 
strapped  on  his  back.  He  brings  home  his  weekly 
provisions  in  it.  Yours, 

M.  C. 

So  you,  too,  are  interested  in  this  romance  of  the 
higher  Alps? — Well,  I  intended  you  should  be! 

Two  weeks  since  my  last  bulletin  —  and  still  he 
has  not  spoken  !  I  've  tried  wile,  diplomacy,  bribery, 
stratagem,  subtlety,  archness,  which  is  not  becoming 
to  my  years,  and  artifice,  which  is  foreign  to  my 
constitution — all  to  no  purpose  as  yet. 

But  I  have  n't  lost  all  hope  —  oh,  no  !  Meanwhile, 
Trudel  is  actually  growing  thin,  and  her  face  shows 
pale  through  the  tan.  The  sound  of  the  zither  is 
heard  no  longer  from  within  the  low-ceiled  room;  the 
lovely  melody : 

"  Behtit  dich  Gott, 
Es  war'  zu  schon  gewesen  —  " 


Warp  and  Woof  189 

sounds  no  more  in  ringing  tenor  down  the  village 
street  of  a  pleasant  autumn  evening.  He  has  spoiled 
more  than  a  dozen  of  my  figurines,  and  if  this  state 
of  things  continues  I  am  sure  he  will  be  incapacitated 
for  work.  But  what  can  I  do  ? 

Yours  distractedly  and,  vicariously,  in  despair, 

MADELINE  COPE. 

P.  S.  I  am  too  busy  extracting  Trudel's  thorn  to 
think  of  my  own. 

Another  week !  I  packed  my  trunk  on  Tuesday 
because  I  felt  sure  by  certain  signs  that  the  longed- 
for  word  would  be  forthcoming,  and,  moreover,  Aunt 
is  growing  uneasy  in  the  thick  cold  mists  and  flurry 
ing  snows  that  hover  and  settle  around  us  day  and 
night.  We  are  lost  in  a  cloud-world  that  is  confus 
ing  to  sight  and  hearing. 

Trudel  weeps  quietly  when  we  walk  and  talk  and 
consult  together  —  even  the  six  goats  I  have  given 
her  (we  went  with  Franzl  over  the  Donnerjoch  to 
another  "  Hof "  to  purchase  them)  fail  to  give  comfort, 
although  the  yield  of  milk,  she  says,  is  enormous  ! 

The  strain  of  the  situation  is  becoming  tense  — 
even  Nicodemus  feels  it,  and  is  grumpy. 

M.  C. 

October  22nd. 

Yesterday  I  bought  a  cow  with  Nicodemus's  aid, 
and  we  drove  her  —  I  say  "  we,"  for  Trudel,  Nico 
demus,  Franzl,  and  I  had  taken  advantage  of  a  half 
day  of  sunshine  to  go  to  Ilsengau,  three  miles  down 
the  mountain,  to  buy  her  —  up  through  the  village 
street  just  before  sunset. 


190       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Of  course,  we  had  to  pass  His  window.     He  was 
there —  poor  fellow,  he  is  always  there  of  necessity  — 
and   I  said  to  myself,  "  This  will  bring  it  about;    it 
must —  six  goats  and  a  cow  !  "     But  I  reckoned  with 
out  my  host. 

Well !  For  all  the  obtuse,  fossil-hearted,  obdu 
rate,  stiff-necked  specimens  of  humanity,  commend 
me  to  this  chamois-hunter  of  Felsengarten  ! 

I  had  wild  thoughts  of  begging  Nicodemus  and 
Franzl  to  buy  eight  or  ten  cords  of  dressing  from 
somewhere,  and  having  it  hauled  through  the  village 
street  in  his  very  face  and  eyes,  placarded  "  For 
Trudel  "  ;  — for  be  it  known  unto  you,  that  the  pre 
cious  "  muck-heap  "  is  the  peasant's  Bank  of  England 
consols.  But  all  was  brought  to  naught  by  Trudel,  who 
came  up  to  me  after  supper,  and  begged  with  scarce 
articulate  lamentations  that  I  take  back  the  goats 
and  the  cow  and  make  her  poor  again  !  !  !  Did  you 
ever? 

I  tried  reason  —  but  I  might  as  well  have  reasoned 
with  the  wind. 

"  Oh,  go  and  tell  him  I  'm  poor,"  she  said,  "  poor 
as  I  used  to  be  —  go,  Fraulein  Madeline,  go  —  do, 
do,  if  you  love  me  !  " 

Of  course  I  went — this  morning  —  as  fast  as  my 
two  legs  and  the  momentum  acquired  by  the  rapid 
descent  of  a  precipitous  alp  could  carry  me,  and 
with  outward  calmness  inquired  how  the  work  was 
coming  on. 

"  Fine,  Fraulein  Madeline." 

I  saw  the  brown  hands  tremble  a  little. 

"  I  want  to  see  just  these  last  two  or  three  finished 
before  I  go  —  I  shall  leave  Monday." 

"So?  —  I  am  sorry,  Fraulein  Madeline." 


Warp  and  Woof  191 

That  was  all,  but  the  dark  eyes  rested  on  me  with 
a  look  that  somehow  made  me  feel  blood-guilty,  and 
I  saw  the  strong  hands  begin  to  shake. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  cheerfully,  "  and  I  may  take  Trudel 
with  me  —  she  's  such  a  dear  girl,  and  needs  some 
one  to  protect  her ;  she  's  too  young,  too  alone  in 
the  world,"  ("  Stand  that  if  you  can,"  I  was  thinking 
to  myself),  "too  poor  —  " 

"Poor,  poor  did  you  say?"  He  gave  a  scornful 
laugh,  but  I  heard  his  voice  break,  "  With  six  goats 
and  a  cow  —  that  is  not  true,  Fraulein  Madeline;  a 
Sennerin  is  rich  with  that,  and  can  choose  among 
the  high-peasants." 

"  Oh,  but  she  hasn't  any  goats  and  cow  —  that's 
village  gossip,"  I  hastened  to  explain.  "They're 
mine ;  that  is,  —  I  'm  coming  back  again  next  sum 
mer,  and  Trudel  has  promised  to  take  care  of  them 
for  m—  " 

"  Fraulein,  Fraulein !  "  he  cried  out,  dropping 
his  work  and  burying  his  handsome  face  in  his 
hands,  "I've  been  a  purblind  fool  —  tell  her  —  tell 
her  —  " 

"What,  Hansl,  what?"  cried  an  eager,  loving  voice 
behind  me.  Of  course  it  was  Trudel's.  I  made  my 
escape,  but  not  before  such  a  "  jodel,"  full,  ringing, 
joyous,  like  the  "  blowing  up  of  the  trumpet  in  the 
full  moon,"  resounded  along  the  village  street,  that  all 
the  children,  men,  and  women  ran  together  at  the 
Post  thinking  a  brief  had  come  up  from  the  Emperor. 
Even  Nicodemus  on  the  Frohe  Alp  heard  it. 

"What  was  that,  Fraulein  Madeline?"  he  asked, 
the  moment  I  came  in  sight. 

"  Hansl's  announcement  to  Felsengarten  that  he 
is  betrothed  to  Trudel." 


192       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

"  Herr  mein  Gott !  "  exclaimed  Frau  Bendl,  clap 
ping  her  hands,  "  that 's  a  piece  of  luck  for  the  fine 
fellow." 

"But  the  goats  and  the  cow,  Fraulein?"  said 
Nicodemus,  anxiously. 

I  smiled.  "  Oh,  I  'm  going  to  hire  Trudel  to 
take  care  of  them  for  me  till  I  come  again  next 
year,  Nicodemus." 

"  Praise  God,"  he  muttered,  crestfallen.  I  know 
he  wanted  them  himself. 

I  've  packed  my  trunk  for  good  and  all,  and  on 
Monday  we  leave  for  Italy,  faring  over  the  Brenner 
Pass.  Really  I  feel  the  reaction  from  this  awful 
strain.  To  think  of  that  fellow's  pride  !  He  would  n't 
ask  her  because  she  was  suddenly  become  rich,  and 
he  is  what  he  is — "cripple-lame"  as  he  expresses 
it.  — Good-night. 


—  Venice  in  winter  !  You  can't  imagine  it.  Just 
now  a  queer  bronze  mist  is  driving  in  unexpectedly 
over  the  Lagoon,  and  the  wastes  of  steel  gray  waters 
are  furrowed  with  black.  We  have  had  letters  from 
Rome  that  urge  us  to  spend  the  winter  there.  But 
to  one  and  all  we  say,  "  No."  We  have  promised, 
however,  to  go  down  for  a  month  before  Easter ;  we 
must  sacrifice  that  to  the  family,  for  a  cousin  of  mine 
is  in  the  embassy.  But  it  will  mean  for  me  a  round 
of  balls,  dinners,  receptions,  conversazioni  —  I  know 
it  all,  and  am  tired  and  sick  of  it. 

But  till  then,  this  fascinating,  unmolested  corner  in 
Venice,  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  my  favorites. 
If  it  be  a  possible  thing,  I  am  going  to  make  you  ste 
all  this.  How,  do  you  suppose?  I  am  going  to 


Warp  and  Woof  193 

revel  in  the  carvings  and  sculptures  of  this  city  of  the 
waters,  and,  as  I  make  acquaintance  with  the  most 
beautiful,  write  out  an  account  of  them,  and  then  mount 
a  photograph  of  some  exquisite  detail,  and  so  form 
an  illustrated  book  of  Venice's  handiwork  along  your 
lines. 

Imagine  my  pleasure  in  all  this  !  — The  close,  daily 
companionship  with  the  realized  ideals  of  these 
masters ;  the  companionship  in  spirit  with  a  certain 
Wood-carver  far  away  across  the  ocean,  and  by  means 
of  these  ideals  the  communion  of  All  Saints,  which  I 
shall  have  gratis  for  my  work  of  love.  Your  letters? 
I  '11  not  tell  you  what  they  have  been  to  me  —  not 
yet,  for  I  have  still  to  strip  myself  of  that  thorn.  I 
find  there  are  compensations  —  There  's  my  aunt. 

M.    C. 

VENICE,  CORTE  SCARLOTTI. 
DEAR  FRIEND, 

Once  when  a  monk  was  showing  us  through  the 
cloisters  of  a  Cistercian  monastery  in  northern  Italy, 
I  saw  him  gather  a  branch  of  roses  that  was  set  with 
strong  thorns,  and  crush  the  stem  in  his  palm.  Di 
rectly  after  I  saw  the  blood  trickle  from  his  clenched 
fist,  and  I  spoke  impulsively:  "  You  have  hurt  your 
self  with  the  thorns." 

"  I  did  it  for  remembrance,"  he  said  sternly,  turn 
ing  upon  me,  a  worldling,  such  a  Last-Day-of-Judg- 
ment  look  that  I  quailed  in  spirit.  But  I  have  often 
thought  of  that  and  wondered  what  its  entire  signifi 
cance  might  be. 

This  letter  seems  to  me  a  symbolic  repetition 
of  that  act  on  my  part;  for  just  to  remember,  to  re 
live  certain  experiences,  will  draw  blood  like  that 

13 


194      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

monk's  thorn.  You  will  wonder  why  I  do  it  then? 
Have  n't  you  found  that  in  the  crises  of  Life  the 
soul  needs  a  little  blood-letting  as  well  as  the  body? 
That 's  why.  Moreover,  unless  I  tell  you,  you  can 
not  know  what  your  letters  have  been  to  me  these 
past  years. 

You  know  something  of  the  shadow  that  fell  upon 
my  life  when  I  was  fifteen?  A  shadow  that  has  never 
wholly  vanished.  I  was  an  only  child,  and  when  I 
was  just  entering  into  the  joy  of  young  girlhood, 
I  lost  both  father  and  mother  within  two  weeks.  It 
seemed  for  a  time  to  blot  out  the  whole  life  of  my 
affections ;  but  my  aunt  was  all  to  me  that  a  woman, 
not  my  mother,  could  be;  I  was  young,  and  the 
joy  of  life  came  back  to  me  gradually,  but  never 
undimmed  as  it  was  before. 

And  I  have  so  disappointed  that  good  aunt ! 
She  had  settled  all  my  future  for  me,  along  pre-natal 
lines,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  and  her  ambition 
knew  no  limits.  We  not  only  entertained  largely  in 
our  own  city  home  and  our  .summer  one,  but  were 
entertained  in  turn.  Consequently,  it  was  a  round  of 
gayeties  for  me  for  the  year  and  a  half  after  I  came 
out.  Then,  yielding  to  my  importunings,  my  aunt 
took  me  to  Europe.  A  cousin  of  my  mother's  had 
married  in  England,  and  I  can  credit,  or  discredit, 
my  life  with  a  full  London  season.  We  went  directly 
from  there  to  Germany,  and  settled  in  Dresden ;  in 
the  comparative  quiet  of  the  city  on  the  Elbe,  I  found 
time  to  draw  a  free  breath,  look  about  me,  and  begin 
—  to  think. 

If  I  had  married  at  nineteen,  like  so  many  others 
of  my  acquaintance,  and  a  little  child  of  my  own  had 
led  me,  I  might  never  have  cared  to  think  of  Life's 


Warp  and  Woof  195 

meaning  to  others,  only  to  my  own,  —  perhaps  not 
even  to  myself;  I  don't  know  —  these  things  are 
hidden  from  us. 

But  I  did  know  that,  although  I  had  entered  into 
all  the  gayety  of  the  life  about  me  in  America  and 
England,  I  never  felt  one  of  it ;  I  don't  know  why. 
There  was  never  a  balcony-door  opened,  but  that  I 
looked  for  some  indefinable  release  from  something 
I  could  not  define ;  —  never  a  new  acquaintance  ap 
peared  in  the  drawing-room  that  I  did  not  idealize 
him  for  ten  minutes  —  or  more  —  and  was  disillusioned 
forever  after.  Yet  people  said  I  had  everything;  —  I 
knew  better. 

In  Dresden,  that  quiet  back-water  where  the  cur 
rent  of  cosmopolitan  social  life  makes  scarce  a  ripple, 
I  had  time  to  think.  At  first,  through  Art  and  Music, 
then  through  German  thought  and  German  books; 
and  before  I  knew  it,  Hugh,  I  was  dragging  anchor, 
losing  the  dear,  sweet,  child-like  faith  I  had  kept 
as  my  best  heritage  from  my  father  and  mother,  a 
Christian  gentleman  and  a  Christian  gentlewoman, 
and  with  it,  losing  much  of  the  spontaneous  joy  of 
life. 

It  was  then  I  met  our  friend,  Franz  Waldort. 
He  was  one  of  the  American  students  in  Freiberg, 
and  already  making  his  mark,  the  professors  said. 
He  is  a  splendid-looking  man  now —  but  I  wish  you 
might  have  seen  him  then  !  "  Balder  the  Beautiful," 
was  our  name  for  him  in  private.  He  was  just  like  a 
young  Norse  god  ;  and  he  brought  into  my  life  a 
breath  of  that  other  "  elemental  world  "  which  had  yet 
to  be  discovered  by  me,  a  Human.  I  did  n't  stop  to 
investigate;  I  tumbled  head-first  into  Science.  This 
strenuous  effort  to  comprehend,  not  the  law  of  the 


196      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

crystallization  of  a  mineral,  but  the  why  of  the  mineral 
itself,  brought  about  confusion  worse  confounded  in 
my  ideals  of  life,  and  the  eternal  things  thereof. 

I  realized  that  the  lenses,  spiritual,  social,  must 
be  readjusted  before  I  could  "see  deep  enough  to  see 
musically,"  but  I  was  too  young  to  do  it;  —  I  had  to 
grow  to  that.  Meanwhile,  I  grew  restless,  and  roamed 
for  four  years,  dragging  my  devoted  aunt  from 
Algiers  to  St.  Andrews  —  from  Andorra  to  Odessa. 
Then  we  returned  to  Baltimore,  and  there,  literally 
on  the  threshold  of  my  own  home,  I  found  what  I  had 
been  seeking !  .  .  . 

But  I  must  stop  for  to-day.  My  aunt  is  ready, 
and  our  gondolier,  Beppo  Cortelli,  is  waiting  at  the 
foot  of  the  water-steps.  It  is  a  day  of  days ;  a  sky 
the  color  of  the  Virgin's  mantle;  the  waves  of  the 
Adriatic  alive  like  sapphires  in  the  sun. — Give  my 
love  to  Twiddie.  Tell  her  that  last  letter  made 
me  long  to  taste  some  of  the  quince  preserve  she 
is  "  doing  up."  I  hope  she  received  the  box  for 
Christmas  day.  I  wish  I  might  see  her  in  the  white 
serge !  Won't  she  have  her  photograph  taken  for 
me  f  Dick  writes  me  he  has  a  tintype  of  her  taken 
last  summer.  He  won't  send  it  to  me,  but  says  he 
will  show  it  to  me  when  he  meets  me  in  Rome.  Posi 
tively,  I  'm  jealous.  — 

What  will  you  ask  next!  Why  do  you  want  to 
know  what  gowns  I  wear  at  these  receptions,  balls, 
and  dinners? — I  was  at  the  Russian  Embassy  last 
night,  and  wore  a  gown  of  dark  blue  velvet  made 
perfectly  plain,  with  a  square  neck,  and  angel  sleeves 
lined  with  pale  blue  silk  —  Oh,  what  does  a  man  know 
about  angel  sleeves  !  Well,  you  must  use  your  imag- 


Warp  and  Woof  197 

mation ;  anyway,  they  fall  a  yard  below  the  hips.  I 
tell  you  this  that  you  may  not  delude  yourself  into 
thinking  they  extend  horizontally  from  the  shoulders 
backwards  !  With  this  modest  gown  I  wear  no  jewels, 
but  a  single  "  red,  red  rose."  —  Dick  took  occasion 
the  other  day  to  show  me  that  tintype  of  Twiddle. 
Why,  Hugh,  how  beautiful  she  has  grown  !  Dick  has 
put  the  poor  tin  plate  into  a  dainty  velvet  case,  and 
the  girl's  face,  even  with  that  queer  combination, 
rivals  in  feature  and  expression  many  an  ivory  I  have 
seen  here. 

I  thought  of  her  at  the  conversazione  which  my 
cousin  gave  for  us  at  the  Villa  last  evening.  I  could 
see  just  how  she  would  grace  some  of  those  exquisite 
gowns  I  saw  in  the  columned  salon  —  Oh,  you  want  to 
know  what  I  wore?  —  heavy,  corded  silk,  ivory-white, 
with  a  bertha  of  Venetian  Point,  a  pearl  necklace  and 
girdle  of  my  mother's,  and  a  bunch  of  yellow  tea-roses 
fastened  in  the  clasp  at  my  belt.  Does  this  find  favor 
with  Olympian  Hugh? 

Dick  and  I  spoke  of  Olympus  when  we  found 
time,  after  our  guests  had  gone,  to  go  out  on  the 
terrace  and  pace  there  in  the  moonlight  for  half 
an  hour.  We  talked  of  you  and  Twiddie,  and  Dick 
said,  pointing  to  a  group  of  ilex  and  cypress  just 
below  us : 

"  What  would  n't  I  give  for  one  full  inhalation  of 
that  forest  breath  on  Olympus !  " 

-Yes,  you  have  a  right  to  know  of  my  "  seeking  and 
finding."  I  should  be  no  true  woman  if,  receiving  as 
I  have  the  assurance  of  your  feeling  towards  me,  I 
did  not  draw  aside  the  veil  of  my  Holy  of  Holies  once 
at  least ;  for  only  by  a  glimpse  of  that  can  you  un 
derstand  what  you  are  to  me  —  and  why.  But  not 


198       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

now  —  not  here.     This    air  proves  miasmatic  for  my 
soul ;  —  I  can't  expose  it  in  Rome. 

Good-morning,  for  it  is  that. 

M.  C. 


CAMALDOLI,  NEAR  BIBBIENA, 

AT  THE  INN  OF  THE  SANCTUARY. 

Where  it  is  so  beautiful  that  one  understands  the 
meaning  of  the  Holiness  of  Beauty.  This  Forest  of 
the  Camaldoli  is  the  true  sanctuary. 

With  the  advent  of  Lent  we  fled  from  Rome. 
Having  done  the  whole  of  my  duty,  I  felt  entitled 
to  live  for  myself  for  a  few  weeks,  and  under  the  chest 
nuts  of  the  first  sanctuary,  Vallombrosa,  I  sloughed 
my  society  skin,  and  cleared  my  soul  of  malaria, 
Rome-engendered.  Goodness,  how  that  city  op 
pressed  me  ! 

I  stopped  in  that  dear  city  of  Saint  Mary  of  the 
Flower  —  how  I  love  it!  — long  enough  to  order  for 
you  a  set  of  book-shelves,  carved  in  the  black  oak  in 
which  the  Italians  work  so  much.  The  Florentine 
carvings  are  all  a  joy,  whether  in  marble,  wood,  or 
precious  metals.  I  have  also  forwarded  to  you,  by 
freight  via  Leghorn,  —  of  course,  in  the  care  of  my 
uncle,  —  two  planks  of  Italian  walnut,  that  you  may 
try  your  hand  at  it,  and  in  the  same  case  I  have  sent 
two  hats  for  Twiddie ;  one  is  a  broad  Leghorn,  the 
other  of  light  Tuscan  straw  made  by  the  peasant 
girls  of  Fiesole.  The  book  of  Venetian  Carvings 
goes  with  them,  as  also  some  photographs  of  the  best 
Florentine  work.  And  do  you  mind  my  putting  in 
two  of  the  pretty  Florentine  blankets  made  of  refuse- 
silk —  one  a  deep  blue,  the  other  the  color  of  a  cactus 
flower? 


Warp  and  Woof  199 

I  thought  one  would  look  cosy  on  Twiddie's  bed, 
and  the  other  might  lend  a  bit  of  fine  color  to  your 
room  in  the  firelight,  if  thrown  over  the  cot  of  a  bitter 
winter  night. 

I  am  glad  you  like  the  Browning  poems  the  more 
you  read  them.  What  you  say  of  them  is  what  I 
have  always  thought  but  have  not  been  able  to  ex 
press  :  that  you  feel  "  not  only  the  jar  of  Life  in  them, 
but  its  adjustment."  The  touchstone  of  his  world- 
humanness  is  that  you  realize  the  truth  of  that  which 
you  have  said  of  him,  just  as  forcibly  here  in  this 
solitude  of  Camaldoli  or  on  the  top  of  your  distant 
Olympus,  as  in  the  Ghetto  at  Frankfurt,  a  Roman 
salon,  at  the  curtain  of  a  confessional-box  in  a  cathe 
dral,  or  in  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  thoroughfares  of 
our  New  World  metropolises. 

I  like  to  imagine  all  those  books  you  have  been 
gathering  and  making  yours  on  these  special  shelves. 
From  what  you  write,  I  know  so  many  of  my  friends 
must  be  among  them.  I  believe  in  the  end  you  will 
make  your  room  as  fascinatingly  beautiful  in  its  way 
for  the  shut-in  months,  as  you  have  made  the  Pen  for 
the  uncaged  ones. 

I  am  writing  in  the  loggia,  or  roof-porch  of  this 
mountain-inn,  and  our  landlord  is  placing  our  dinner, 
which  we  take  at  five,  on  the  small  round  oak  table 
by  the  balustrade.  It  is  temptingly  simple  —  two  fat 
potted  pigeons,  a  kind  of  puree  of  boiled  chestnuts, 
two  huge  artichokes  stewed  in  olive  oil,  two  strips  of 
pulled  white  bread,  a  dish  of  olives,  a  small  flask  of 
the  red  wine  of  the  country,  and  a  basket  of  manda 
rins.  For  the  last  touch,  he  has  brought  in  a  square, 
deep  jar  of  coarse,  green  majolica  filled  with  long- 
stemmed  narcissuses. 


200      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

The  forest  lies  below  us,  about  us,  above  us,  and 
through  the  clearings  there  are  ravishing  glimpses  of 
purple  Apennine  and  sun-misted  plain. 

A-Dieu.  M.  C. 

EASTER  SUNDAY, 

FOREST  OF  THE  CAMALDOLI. 
DEAR  HUGH, 

You  write  that  your  life  has  been  a  slow  resurrec 
tion  for  the  past  four  years,  and  that  your  soul  had 
lain  for  nineteen  months  in  —  worse  than  the  tomb. 
I,  too,  thank  God  that  there  can  be  a  resurrection 
of  the  life  of  the  heart  after  it  has  lain  long  in  the 
winding-sheet. 

Such  a  resurrection  has  come  to  me  through  the 
beautiful  love  you  have  given  me,  Hugh.  And  just 
as  parched  lands  welcome  refreshing  showers,  I  ac 
cept  it ;  accept  it  as  you  give  it,  feeling  all,  under 
standing  all,  realizing  all.  The  knowledge  of  it  has 
revivified  me ;  but  that  I  have  been  to  you  all  that 
you  say,  I  fail  to  realize.  It  humbles  me ;  but,  Hugh, 
you  have  idealized  me. 

I  told  you  I  would  tell  you  how  I  "  sought  and 
found  " ;  but,  indeed,  I  did  n't  find,  not  really,  for  all 
my  seeking.  It  was  revealed  to  me.  I  have  often 
had  in  my  thought  the  truth  of  those  words,  "  Who 
by  seeking  can  find  out  God?"  Does  one  ever  find 
Him  out  just  by  seeking?  I  doubt  it.  But  to  the 
true  seeker,  I  am  sure  He  is  revealed  ;  revealed  to  each 
individual  of  the  seeking  multitudes  in  some  one  of 
His  infinite  ways  —  by  a  word,  an  inspiring  thought, 
a  moment  of  anguish,  a  flower  blooming  on  the  grave 
of  some  beloved  ;  through  the  scourge  of  a  sin,  in  the 
star-filled  sky,  in  the  miracle  of  a  kernel  nourished  in 
an  earth-clod  ;  by  the  law  of  the  spheres,  of  the  earth, 


Warp  and  Woof  201 

and  all  things  thereon  —  of  ourselves  ;  but  most  per 
fectly  of  all — 'may  I  not  say  most  transcendentally 
of  all,  through  the  agency  of  the  Human  as  the  most 
perfect  expression  of  Himself? 

It  was  revealed  to  me  so. 

It  is  easy  to  say  all  this  to  you,  here  in  this  forest 
quiet,  which  is  a  singing  silence  of  leaves  stirring  in 
the  tree-tops ;  —  and  on  just  this  day,  too  ! 

Above  me  I  can  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sanctuary's 
walls — a  centuries'  old  sepulchre  of  a  long  unrisen 
humanitarianism.  But  the  resurrection  has  come, 
even  here,  and  one  finds  one's  Master  no  longer  in  cell 
and  cloister,  but  abroad  —  on  the  road  with  his  people, 
in  brotherly  converse  and  the  breaking  of  bread. 

There  was  a  friend  of  some  friends  of  mine,  whom 
I  met  for  the  first  time  on  my  return.  I  had  heard 
much  of  him,  and  all  in  praise.  Can  a  woman  ever 
tell,  in  real  life  —  fiction  is  another  thing  —  how  she 
comes  to  love  a  man?  Why,  perhaps — but  how? 
I  doubt  it. 

When  I  saw  him,  I  knew,  and  a  great  peace  came 
with  the  knowledge;  I  felt  intuitively  that  my  quest 
was  over.  There  is  no  need  to  tell  you  in  detail ; 
only,  for  several  years,  I  saw  much  of  him  and  heard 
often  from  him.  I  learned  to  look  upon  his  thoughts 
as  my  thoughts,  his  ways  as  my  ways.  In  what  I 
learned  from  others  of  his  way  of  life,  I  knew  that  he 
was  true,  pure,  upright,  with  a  largeness  of  heart  and 
an  humility  of  soul  that  found  its  best  expression  in 
walking  side  by  side  with  the  outcast,  the  forlorn,  the 
sinned-against  of  God's  earth. 

Unknown  to  him  I  had  opportunities,  and  made 
them,  to  acquaint  myself  with  his  work.  It  is  far- 
reaching.  I  know  of  lives,  some  enriched,  some  de- 


2O2      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

veloped,  some  rescued,  some  protected,  some  turned 
God-wards  through  him ;  and,  at  last,  the  purposes 
of  God  through  Christ  stood  revealed  to  me  through 
this  man —  His  image. 

Woman-like  I  worshipped  His  creature  —  how 
could  I  help  it?  I  had  waited  so  long;  not  willing 
to  accept  any  lesser  thing;  and  I  don't  know  why  — 
I  suppose  it  sounds  conceited,  egotistical,  but,  indeed, 
it  is  not  meant  so  —  but  because  I  loved  him  with  all 
my  heart,  I  thought  that  he,  being  free,  must  love  me, 
—  and  so. 

But,  Hugh,  I  was  mistaken.  I  waited,  and  waited; 
he  never  called  me  "  friend,"  but  we  drew  close,  so 
close  in  purpose,  in  sympathy,  in  thought  —  and  our 
life-lines,  too,  ran  parallel.  (My  aunt  saw,  and  almost 
openly  rejoiced.)  But  the  word,  for  which  I  was  wait 
ing,  longing,  —  yes,  praying,  Hugh,  never  was  spoken. 

At  first  I  was  amazed,  then  indignant,  then  humil 
iated  when  the  letters  grew  infrequent,  and  he  was 
off  and  away  across  the  ocean  with  only  a  few  words 
to  make  known  his  change  of  plans.  Hugh,  I  have 
been  "  very  vilely  proud,"  and  that  my  love,  my  first, 
true,  deep  woman's  love  should  be  unrecognized,  un 
sought  where  I  feared  I  had  shown  it  all  too  plainly, 
I  felt  to  be  an  insulting  humiliation.  Even  my  family 
had  speculated  upon  it  —  and  such  speculations  are 
a  sensitive  woman's  worst  defeats. 

Once,  and  once  only,  during  the  years  I  knew 
him,  I  had  let  my  heart  leap  to  my  eyes  when  I  bade 
him  good-by,  and  I  knew  he  must  know,  must  under 
stand,  must  see  through  that  one  look  the  very  soul 
of  me.  And  I  —  I  saw  a  response  that  I  trusted  ;  but, 
as  it  appears,  in  vain. 

Shortly  after  his  return,  before  I  had  opportunity 


Warp  and  Woof  203 

to  see  him,  I  determined  to  run  no  more  heart-risks, 
but  burn  my  bridges  behind  me  and  set  a  limit,  if  I 
could,  to  the  suffering  of  soul-humiliation,  by  putting 
the  ocean  between  us.  But  I  was  n't  only  cowardly,  — 
I  was  n't  good,  Hugh.  With  the  knowledge  that  I  had 
given  my  love,  as  it  appeared,  unsought,  came  a  feel 
ing  of  vengefulness,  of  "  don't  care,"  of  laisser-aller, 
and  I  did  just  as  many  another  woman  has  done ;  "  If 
I  can't  have  what  I  want,  I  '11  amuse  myself  with  what 
I  don't  want,"  was  my  thought,  and  my  life  followed 
suit.  Oh,  Hugh !  the  awful  humiliation  of  all  this  ! 
It  was  worse  than  the  first.  I  know  of  many  mar 
riages, —  fairly  happy  ones,  —  both  for  men  and 
women,  that  have  been  founded  on  the  rebound  of  a 
disappointed  love;  but  I  knew  myself  well  enough 
not  to  take  that  step ;  for,  with  me,  there  can  be  no 
such  thing  as  a  "  fairly  happy  marriage."  But  I  erred 
—  sinned,  if  you  will,  in  my  heart,  and  suffered  in 
consequence. 

This  is  my  "  thorn  " ;  and  now  you  know  why  I 
had  so  strong  a  fellow-feeling  with  Trudel. 

But  before  T  went  I  met  you,  and  a  strange  moun 
tain-peace,  an  influence  for  good,  seemed  all  about 
me  and  around  me  that  day.  I  was  glad  to  know 
you ;  and  because  through  my  own  heart-suffering  I 
had  come  again  into  an  attitude  of  child-like  trust  in 
the  Father,  because  I  saw  how  best  I  could  serve  Him 
by  serving  others  of  His  children  who  are  less  fortu 
nate  than  I,  who  have  suffered  more,  —  indeed,  been 
deprived  of  Life's  best ;  because  I  felt  that  you,  too, 
wished  it,  I  entered  into  this  friendship,  this  com 
panionship,  which  has  been  so  much  to  me  during 
these  two  years  of  finding  myself  through  losing 
myself  in  others. 


204      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

There,  dear  Hugh,  you  have  it  all.  If,  after  this 
confession,  you  can  still  love  me,  just  keep  on  telling 
me  so ;  it  won't  harm  either  of  us  —  not  this  love ; 
for,  Hugh,  I  am  older  than  you,  and  because  older  a 
little  wiser  in  the  ways  of  love,  for  the  reason  that  I 
have  loved  as  a  true  woman  loves  but  once.  There 
are  other  ways,  I  know ;  and  this  of  my  loving  you  is 
one  of  them. 

Sometime  you  will  see  for  yourself  just  what  I 
mean ;  till  then,  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you. 
Will  you,  in  the  future,  destroy,  after  reading,  the 
notes  I  shall  send  you?  You  say  you  have  kept  all 
my  letters  of  the  last  two  years  to  read  and  re-read 
—  but,  please,  not  the  others  I  shall  send  you.  The 
time  will  come  when  I  can  tell  you  the  reason ;  till 
then  —  trust  me,  will  you? 

We  make  our  way  northward  to  the  lakes,  and 
again  to  Venice  for  the  white  roses  over  the  wall  of 
the  Corte  Scarlotti ;  then  across  the  Adriatic  and  the 
Semmering  Pass  to  Vienna  and  Gastein,  where  we 
meet  Dick  and  some  friends.  From  Gastein  back  for 
a  day  or  two  to  our  beloved  Joyous  Alp  and  Trudel's 
wedding,  when  the  goats  and  the  cow  are  to  be  hers 
"  her  heirs  and  assigns  forever."  Dick  goes  with  us, 
for  he  is  as  interested  in  that  romance  as  you  are.  — 

Have  you  heard  from  our  friend,  Franz  Waldort, 
since  he  left  for  South  America?  My  dear  love  to 
Twiddie,  and  for  yourself —  I  think  you  know  all 
there  is  for  yourself  after  this.  M.  C. 

MOLLENDO,  COAST  OF  PERU,  May,  189-. 

Now  look  at  that,  Armstrong !  When  I  got  to  the 
coast  last  October,  I  left  a  box  and  some  letters  to  go 
by  the  next  steamer  and  the  Overland  to  you.  I 


Warp  and  Woof  205 

wanted  Twiddle  to  get  the  South  American  trifles  by 
Christmas  without  fail ;  and  now,  after  seven  months 
in  the  clouds  and  a  recent  drop  of  fifteen  thousand 
feet  from  the  quicksilver  mines  of  Hauncavalica  into 
this  miasmatic  hole,  I  find  the  letters  and  the  box  safe 
in  the  ship  agent's  office  —  they  were  forwarded  from 
Callao  —  waiting  for  some  one  connected  with  the 
government  to  "  viser  "  them. 

I  can  assure  you,  Armstrong,  there  has  been  an 
irruption  of  the  natural  volcanic  order  that  has  sur 
prised  some  of  the  numerous  asinine  officials  — 
they  'd  fumigated  those  letters,  too  !  But  what  can 
one  do?  The  laisser-aller  of  this  people  is  as  stu 
pendous  as  their  country,  and  that,  Armstrong,  is 
incomparable.  — 

I  count  myself  fortunate  in  having  received  an 
extension  of  leave  in  order  to  give  me  time  to  do 
some  tall-game  stalking  in  the  Andes. 

Tell  Twiddie,  with  warm  thanks  for  her  charming 
letters  which  I  found  awaiting  me,  that  she  may 
imagine  me  henceforth  shooting  butterflies  as  large 
as  dessert  plates  with  a  shotgun  loaded  with  mustard 
seed,  stampeding  electric  eels  in  the  back  waters  of 
the  Orinoco,  or  peaceably  milking  cow-trees,  peeling 
Peruvian  bark,  or  smoking  rubber  in  the  Amazon 
regions. 

Thanks  for  your  letters.  —  I  was  anticipating  them. 
They  keep  me  in  touch  with  the  normal  conditions 
of  Life-as-it-should-be-lived. 

I  can't  say  where  I  shall  come  up  next  to  breathe, 
but  probably  on  the  Brazilian  coast  near  the  Amazon ; 
I  want  to  travel  in  Humboldt's  footsteps  for  a  while. 

Is  n't  it  rather  remarkable  that  a  girl  of  Twiddie's 
age  should  interest  herself  to  the  extent  you  say  she 


206      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

does  in  making  a  collection  of  the  rocks  and  minerals 
of  your  region?  Isn't  that  due  to  your  teaching 
rather  than  to  my  books?  I  am  afraid,  though,  I 
want  to  think  the  latter.  What  a  way  girls  and 
women  have  of  interweaving  a  man's  interests  in 
their  sheltered  lives  !  The  sex  continues  a  wonder 
to  me. 

I  'm  satisfied  with  the  amount  of  work  accom 
plished.  As  you  know,  I  Ve  been  working  off  steam, 
and  the  results  are  rather  surprising,  even  to  me.  — 

Do  you  know,  I  still  have  an  ideal?  Don't  laugh; 
—  I  want,  sometime,  to  go  to  you  on  your  Mountain 
for  five  months  under  a  flag  of  truce  with  Life,  and 
busy  myself  in  the  wholesome  serenity  of  that  atmos 
phere,  domestic  and  otherwise,  with  my  two  prospec 
tive  books.  I  Ve  a  curious  unreasoning  feeling  that 
Life  has  n't  played  my  Ace  of  Hearts  yet !  God  bless 
you,  Armstrong ;  I  know  the  worth  of  thi*  friendship 
of  yours.  My  love  to  Twiddie. 

Yours, 

FRANZ  WALDO  RT. 


V 

THE   LOVE   OF   MAN 


THE  LOVE   OF   MAN 

I  SHALL  try  to  set  it  down  as  it  all  has  happened 
since  that  day  in  midsummer  when  I  finished 
reading  the  record  of  those  two  years  of  travel, 
my  journeyman  years  that  have  enriched  my  life  be 
yond  telling.  —  Happened,  did  I  say?  "As  it  was 
ordained "  from  the  beginning,  would  be  better. 

Twiddie  had  been  down  the  Pent  Road  towards 
Gilead  to  get  me  some  blue-flag  in  the  swamp  by  the 
two  black  ash  trees.  I  was  putting  the  letters  back 
into  the  box  where  I  keep  them,  when  I  heard  her 
"  hoo-hoo." 

"  Ship  ahoy !  "  I  shouted  without  looking  up,  for  I 
wanted  to  get  the  letters  out  of  sight  before  she  came 
into  the  Pen.  I  had  noticed  several  times  that  she 
seemed  irritated,  almost  resentful,  if  she  found  me 
re-reading  them. 

"  Look,  Hugh  !  " 

I  had  kept  my  head  down  purposely;  I  like  to 
make  her  come  sometimes  more  than  half  way. 
Then  I  looked  up  suddenly,  full  in  her  face.  She 
was  leaning  against  the  post  at  the  corner  of  the  Pen. 
The  rapid  walk  up  the  hill  had  quickened  her  breath 
and  deepened  the  rich  color  in  her  cheeks.  Her 
beauty  startled  me.  In  truth,  I  have  caught  myself 

14 


2io      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

marvelling  during  the  last  year  at  its  ever-varying 
charm.  She  has  a  new  face  for  a  new  day,  and  the 
artistic  element  in  me  is  sufficiently  selfish  to  rejoice 
in  the  pleasure  it  affords  my  eyes. 

But  as  I  saw  her  so,  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the 
Pen,  beneath  the  vine  that  moved  softly  above  her  in 
the  light  breeze,  her  hands  clasping  the  long,  angled, 
dark-green  stalks  of  the  iris,  the  superb  blue  of  its 
petals  touching  the  damask  of  her  cheek  and  match 
ing  the  eyes  that  looked  down  at  me  from  under  the 
shade  of  the  broad  Leghorn  hat  that  Madeline  Cope 
had  sent  her,  I  found  myself  wishing  there  were  others 
there  to  see,  or  that  the  girl's  beauty  might  have  its 
chance,  and  not  be  wasted  for  me  here  on  this  Moun 
tain  ;  —  I  did  n't  feel  it  to  be  right. 

Suddenly  she  laughed  merrily  :  a  fresh,  sweet  sound, 
as  when  a  bell-wether  shakes  his  head  in  exuberant 
life.  She  laid  the  bunch  of  iris  on  the  bench. 

"  I  shall  be  careful  how  I  ask  you  to  look  again, 
Hugh,  if  you  keep  on  looking  that  way  much  longer  ! 
What 's  the  matter  with  my  face,  anyway  ?  Pollen  on 
my  nose?  —  " 

She  looked  cross-eyed  with  a  frown  down  the  ridge 
of  that  little  straight  member,  and,  raising  her  gingham 
skirt,  gave  it  a  thorough  polishing. 

"  There  now  !  It 's  nothing  but  a  freckle ;  I  'm 
bound  to  have  them,  Leghorns  or  no  Leghorns. — 
See?" 

She  knelt  by  the  cot  and  held  her  face  up  for 
inspection.  The  texture  of  the  skin  was  so  fine  that 
I  marvelled  the  more  upon  nearer  view.  But  there 
was  a  freckle,  sure  enough,  on  the  tip  of  her  nose. 


The  Love  of  Man  2 1 1 

"  A  beauty-spot,"  I  said,  smiling  down  into  the 
upturned  face,  and  fanning  it  with  the  Leghorn  hat 
which  she  had  thrown  aside.  "  Was  it  hot  down 
there  in  the  swamp  ?  " 

"  Hot !  No  name  for  it.  I  oozed  in  and  I  oozed 
out;  I  had  to  wade,  Hugh." 

"Wade?  Do  you  mean  you  had  actually  to  take 
off  your  shoes  and  stockings?" 

"  Yes,  I  did  —  and  if  I  let  those  flowers  lie  there 
another  minute,  I  shall  have  had  my  pains  for  noth 
ing.  Whew !  —  "  She  seized  the  hat  from  my  hand 
and  began  to  fan  herself  vigorously.  Suddenly  she 
flew  up. 

"  I  must  get  that  big  stone  jar  down  cellar  that 
Aunt  Lize  keeps  the  boiled  cider  in  winters ;  that  is 
just  deep  enough  for  those  stems." 

I  heard  her  about  the  house,  filling,  it  seemed  to 
me,  all  the  rooms  at  once ;  for  I  heard  her  first  on 
the  cellar  stairs  —  then  at  the  water-butt  —  then  in 
the  pantry;  at  last,  she  was  off  through  the  wood 
shed, —  then  silence. 

I  knew  her  ways  so  well !  She  would  be  off  to  the 
hives  to  see  if  the  bees  were  thinking  of  swarming ; 
then  away  to  the  Old  Pasture  bars  to  pat  the  Jersey 
yearlings  on  their  velvety  black  nozzles ;  mayhap, 
she  might  gather  a  bowl  of  raspberries  for  supper 
before  she  came  back  —  What  was  she  doing?  She 
was  back  again  so  soon,  and  I  heard  the  tinkle  of 
ice  —  she  had  been  to  the  ice-house  ! 

"  Oh,  Twiddie,"  I  cried,  "  you  're  a  gem  of  a  girl ! 
How  did  you  happen  to  think  of  raspberry-shrub  ?" 

"  Simply  because  I  'm  melting  —  now,  no  nonsense, 


212      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

Hugh,  or  you  '11  get  none  !  "  She  lifted  the  tray,  with 
its  huge,  old-fashioned  goblets  filled  with  the  rich 
red  juice,  high  on  her  hands  above  her  head,  beyond 
reach  of  my  long  arms,  and  all  the  curving  grace  of 
her  young  figure  was  thrown  into  relief  against  the 
darkened  doorway  of  my  room  where  she  stood. 

"  Give,  give,  I  cry  you  mercy,"  I  pleaded.  But 
she  was  obdurate,  shaking  the  tray  till  the  ice  tinkled 
deliciously,  thirst-tormentingly  against  the  glasses. 

"  Now  wait,  Hugh ;  there 's  no  hurry.  Here,  I  '11 
set  it  down  on  the  bench  under  your  very  nose,  and 
you  can  tinkle  the  ice  to  pass  the  time  till  I  come 
back  —  " 

"  Torments  of  Tantalus !  "  I  groaned. 

"  I  '11  be  back  soon,"  she  said  appeasingly,  relent 
ing  a  little,  "  but  not  a  taste  till  I  come,  —  promise." 

"  One  swallow,  Twiddie  — just  one  —  " 

"  Not  one,  at  your  peril." 

"A  sup  —  " 

"It'll  be  your  last!  " 

"  Just  a  drop,  then,  for  love  of  me  —  hold  on, 
Twiddie  —  "  I  caught  her  skirt  and  held  her  as  she 
was  about  to  flee. 

"  For  love  of  you  !  "  she  repeated  with  mock  earn 
estness.  "Oh,  that's  quite  another  matter; — here, 
open  your  lips.  One  drop  —  " 

She  dipped  her  finger,  and  holding  it  above  me,  let 
one  drop  slowly  gather  at  the  tip  and  fall  upon  my 
tongue ;  —  then  she  was  off,  and  in  another  two 
minutes  was  back  again  from  the  barn  with  two  fine, 
large  straws.  Our  equipment  was  complete,  and 
we  "  oh'ed "  and  "  ah'ed "  like  two  children,  while 


The  Love  of  Man  213 

we  drew  up  the  cooling  drink  through  the  yellow 
tubes. 

"  Goodness,  Hugh  !  we  have  n't  half  enough.  I  '11 
run  up  into  the  pasture  and  pick  some  fresh  berries 
to  make  some  more  for  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim 
—  it 's  most  time  for  them  to  be  here.  Won't  Aunt 
Lize  be  primed  with  all  the  news  of  Scawsville  ?  " 

"  Here,  take  your  hat,  Twiddie ;  remember  the 
beauty-spots."  But  she  laid  it  on  the  bench. 

"  This  will  do  just  as  well."  She  laughed  as  she 
broke  a  piece  off  the  grape-vine  and  tied  it,  kerchief 
fashion,  over  her  hair  and  under  her  chin. 

"Raspberry  stains  won't  hurt  this — I  won't  be 
gone  fifteen  minutes ;  they  're  as  thick  as  spatter." 
She  reached  for  a  strong-handled,  flat  basket  that 
hung  on  a  peg  in  the  post,  laid  it  with  leaves,  and 
started  up  the  hill. 

The  minutes  passed  without  note  of  time  on  my 
part,  for  across  the  Valley  of  the  White  Branch,  the 
mountains  loomed  blue  and  high  in  the  soft  haze,  and, 
in  my  imaginative  vision,  they  were  metamorphosed 
into  Alps  and  Apennines,  Grampians  and  Cordilleras 
-  mountain  homes  of  a  foreign  life,  but  human  in  its 
every  appeal  to  me.  Suddenly  I  was  aware  of  foot 
steps  —  not  Twiddle's  —  and  voices  —  neither  Aunt 
Lize's  nor  Uncle  Shim's  —  at  the  turn  of  the  house, 
and  behold  !  —  Philip  Vanever,  with  Dick  Malory, 
whom  I  had  not  seen  for  three  years ;  not  since  his 
three  days'  fishing  with  Twiddie. 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  "  I  shouted  in  my  joy  at  seeing  them, 
and,  having  no  cap  of  my  own  to  toss  up,  threw  up 
Twiddle's  great  Leghorn  flap,  which  the  breeze  caught 


214      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

and  landed  at  Dick  Malory's  feet.     He  picked  it  up 
and  came  in  with  it.     Then  we  all  talked  together,  — • 
hand  grasping  hand,  —  and  the  fellowship  of  the  Pen 
wrought  upon  us  all  to  the  forgetting  of  Twiddie  — 
at  least,  on  my  part. 

"Where  is  Twiddie?"  said  Vanever  at  last,  point 
ing  to  the  empty  glasses  with  the  straws  still  in  them. 
"  Is  that  her  work?  " 

"  Yes ;  Twiddie  is  the  same  hospitable  little  soul  — 
what  a  surprise  this  will  be  for  her  !  She  is  off  in  the 
Old  Pasture  after  more  raspberries ;  it 's  time  for  her 
to  be  back  —  there  she  is  now !  " 

We  heard  her  singing  as  she  came  down  the  Pent 
Road  behind  the  house,  at  the  very  top  of  her  voice 
too ;  a  curious,  hodge-podge  of  a  catch  she  learned 
phonetically  years  ago,  when  she  first  came  to  us, 
from  an  old  Canuck  who  used  to  chop  wood  for 
Uncle  Shim.  When  she  is  in  her  gayest  spirits,  she 
is  pretty  certain  to  sing  it.  We  listened. 

"  '  Roky  tummy  me  Ik,  Ik,  /<J, 
Came  put  a  dee  de  /<J,  de  Id, 
De  lil  ol  chou, 

De  mikum,  makum,  lemma  nata  jou; 
Szumme  lumme  me  la,  lemma  nata  jou.'" 

How  the  clear  voice  rang  out,  beginning  again : 
" '  Roky  tummy  me  Ik,  Ik,  Id  —  '" 

Round  the  corner  she  came  full  tilt,  then  stopped 
short,  voice  and  all  —  breath,  too,  for  a  moment. 

I  looked  at  her  once,  and  took  it  all  in  ;  —  would 
have  looked  again  had  not  the  faces  of  the  two  men 


The  Love  of  Man  215 

before  me  as  they  caught  sight  of  her  claimed  my 
whole  attention.     I  never  saw  such  a  contrast. 

I  recall  distinctly  her  gown  of  dark  blue  and  white 
gingham,  simple  enough  but  enhancing  the  fairness 
of  her  skin.  Her  face  was  still  flushed  from  exercise ; 
the  bronze  brown  hair,  disordered  among  the  rasp 
berry  bushes,  caught  the  level  rays  of  the  sun  and 
showed  golden  on  the  roughened  curves  of  the  thick 
waves  ;  the  wilted  leaves  of  the  vine  framed  the  entire 
face,  and  the  stem  was  knotted  beneath  the  firm,  deli 
cate  oval  of  her  chin.  In  one  hand  she  held  the  flat 
basket  filled  with  the  luscious  red  of  the  fruit ;  in  the 
other  she  was  dragging  a  branch  of  maple  with  a 
curious  fungus  growth  upon  it. 

I  saw  something  leap  into  Dick  Malory's  face,  the 
like  of  which  I  had  never  seen  before  in  any  man's  — 
it  transfigured  him ;  and,  suddenly,  I,  too,  saw.  But 
over  Vanever's  face  there  crept  a  slow,  ash-gray  wave, 
I  can't  explain  it  otherwise ;  and  I  noticed  that  his 
hand  shook  as  he  lifted  it  slowly  and  closed  it  a 
minute  upon  his  eyes,  as  one  does  to  clear  a  blurred 
vision. 

Twiddie,  leaning  into  the  Pen,  set  down  her  basket 
on  the  bench,  and  held  out  both  hands,  one  to  each, 
with  a  joyful  welcome  in  her  eyes  —  but  tongue-tied, 
like  the  others.  I  came  to  the  rescue. 

"A  surprise-party  for  you,  Mistress  Theodora; 
what  can  your  hospitality  offer  for  supper,  for  Dick 
says  they  saw  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  as  they 
came  through  Scavvsville,  and  Aunt  Lize  sent  word 
she  would  not  be  at  home  before  dark." 

"  Just  hear  him,  Mr.  Malory  !  "  she  exclaimed  joy- 


216      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

ously,  and  pouncing  upon  me,  as  is  her  way  when  she 
is  a  bit  excited,  with  an  energetic  manner  of  her  own 
that  is  captivating.  She  put  her  finger  under  my 
chin  and  lifted  my  face. 

"  Honor  bright,  now,  Hugh;  do  you,  or  I,  keep  the 
spindle-side  of  this  house?  " 

"  Neither  of  us ;  Aunt  Lize  seems  to  be  the  special 
spoke  in  this  domestic  routine." 

"  Aunt  Lize !  "  There  was  scorn  in  her  voice. 
"  You  '11  see  how  big  a  spoke  she  is  —  but  what  is 
the  use  of  arguing  about  what  I  can  do?  The 
supper's  the  thing;  that's  my  strong  point  in  the 
argument,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Vanever?" 

"  We  '11  wait  till  we  see,"  he  answered,  willing  to 
tease  her.  She  turned  with  a  pout  to  Dick  Malory. 

"  You  '11  help  me,  won't  you  ?  —  for  we  have  fished 
together." 

There  was  a  kindling  light  in  Malory's  eyes  that 
was  dangerous,  and  I  was  sure  he  welcomed  the 
diversion. 

"  All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  let  me  help  you  till  we 
can  confound  these  unbelieving  scoffers ;  they  ought 
to  starve  in  penance.  —  Tell  me,  can  you  make  as 
good  buckwheat  flapjacks  as  you  used  three  years 
ago?" 

"Better  —  you'll  see  to-morrow;  I'll  make  some 
for  breakfast.  Come  and  help  me  with  the  table ;  we 
will  set  it  here  next  the  Pen,  then  we  sha'n't  have  to 
disturb  Hugh's  work-bench." 

He  sprang  to  aid  her,  and  I  saw  the  slight  embar 
rassment  of  their  meeting  had  worn  off.  They  were 
again  the  good  comrades  of  three  years  ago.  It  was 


The  Love  of  Man  2 1 7 

pleasant  to  hear  her  joyous  laugh  and  merry  jest  and 
Dick  answering  it  with  quick  repartee,  as  they  brought 
out  the  table,  dishes,  and  chairs.  I  heard  her  sending 
him  to  the  spring  for  a  pail  of  water.  It  did  me  good 
to  hear  her  order  him  about,  and  I  knew  it  did  him 
good.  I  nodded  to  Vanever. 

"That's  what  she  has  needed  —  young  life  to 
brighten  hers." 

He  looked  at  me  gravely ;  his  face  had  regained  its 
normal  color.     "  Dick  is  not  much  your  junior,  Hugh 
—  only  a  year." 

"  I  know;  but  I  'm  a  century  older  in  experience." 

"  True,"  he  said  abstractedly.  I  knew  my  friend 
so  let  him  alone.  Dick  came  back  with  the  water, 
and  Twiddle  was  hither  and  thither  and  yon,  intent 
upon  her  preparations,  for  she  is  a  hospitable  genius. 
When  we  drew  up  to  the  table  —  Philip  had  moved 
my  cot  close  to  the  side  of  the  Pen,  and  the  table  was 
on  the  grass  just  outside  —  I  saw  that  Twiddie  had 
done  herself  proud,  and  my  house  would  not  lack 
hospitable  abundance  through  any  shortcoming  of 
hers. 

She  looked  adorable,  as  she  sat  there  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  an  unsuspected  brush  of  flour  on  the 
side  of  her  nose,  her  cheeks  crimson  with  the  quick 
baking  of  her  flaky  biscuits,  her  fingers  stained  rose- 
red  with  picking  over  the  raspberries.  A  huge  bib- 
apron  enveloped  her,  but  it  could  not  hide  a  certain 
joyous  grace  in  every  movement.  I  was  proud  of 
her,  and  the  supper  as  well.  She  had  given  us 
dozens  of  her  tiny  biscuit  —  she  knows  I  can  eat  twice 
six  and  scarcely  wink  —  a  rasher  of  Uncle  Shim's 


2i 8      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

good  bacon,  with  an  omelette  that  melted  on  the 
tongue,  and  for  top-off,  the  raspberries  and  Jersey 
cream,  clear  honey  in  the  comb  and  some  fresh 
sponge-cakes  Aunt  Lize  had  baked  before  she  started 
for  Scawsville.  Our  guests  did  justice  to  it  all. 

And  when  the  inner  man  was  satisfied,  the  outer 
took  on  a  show  of  contentment,  as  is  the  way  with 
men  at  such  times,  and  Dick  Malory  said,  pushing 
back  his  chair  to  look  at  the  sunset  reflection  on 
Killington  and  Pico: 

"  I  wish  Madeline  were  here !  She  and  I  have 
spoken  of  this  so  often  as  an  ideal  to  be  realized 
some  day." 

"Your  cousin  is  not  in  America,  then?"  I  tried 
to  speak  naturally,  but  I  felt  a  sudden  let-down  in 
spirits,  for  I  had  been  hoping  against  hope  that  she 
had  returned  with  him. 

"  No,  she  had  made  arrangements  with  friends  to 
sail  in  September.  I  had  engaged  passage  for  us  all, 
but  was  called  home  suddenly.  My  father  needed 
help  in  some  business  matters,  and  my  mother  felt 
that  the  two  years  away  from  her  one  child  had  been 
twenty.  I  was  glad  to  come ;  —  Madeline  looked 
dismal  enough  when  she  bade  me  good-by;  I  know 
she  wanted  to  come.  She  sent  all  manner  of  loving 
greetings  to  Olympus."  Suddenly  he  laughed,  his 
hearty,  good-fellowship  laugh. 

"  Madeline  told  me  to  be  sure  and  tell  you  about 
Trudel's  wedding  —  I  went  up  there  for  it."  Just 
then  Twiddic  sprang  up,  for  she  heard  Prince  with 
the  light  farm-wagon  coming  down  the  Pent  Road. 

"  Oh,  do  wait  till  I  put  on  some  more  supper  for 


The  Love  of  Man  219 

Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim,  and  get  the  dishes  done 
up  — then  we  can  hear  all  about  it.  I  don't  want  to 
miss  a  word." 

"  No  more  you  shall,  Twiddie,"  I  assured  her. 
"Just  bring  the  tobacco-box  and  pipes  before  you 
go  in." 

Malory  gave  me  a  queer  look.  He  sprang  up. 
"Let  me  get  it  for  you,  Miss  Twiddie;  you  have 
enough  to  do." 

Perhaps  he  thought  I  did  n't  take,  but  I  did ; 
Twiddie  showed  herself  a  regular  little  brick  in  her 
answer:  "Oh,  no,  indeed;  I  always  fill  and  light 
Hugh's  pipe  for  him  —  that  is,  hold  the  taper,  you 
know." 

"  Now  put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it !  "  I 
thought,  and,  somehow,  I  began  to  feel  as  if,  after 
all,  because  of  the  incomprehensible  feeling  of  bel 
ligerent  youth  I  suddenly  experienced,  there  might 
not  be  a  century's  seniority  on  my  part.  But  aloud 
I  said : 

"  Twiddie's  pipes  have  a  knack  of  keeping  lighted 
when  they  are  neglected  for  a  half  hour's  sober 
reflection." 

"  In  that  case,  is  your  Cousin  Hugh  the  only  one 
to  be  favored  with  such  a  self-renewing  flame,  Miss 
Twiddie?"  asked  Malory,  frankly  enough,  I  must 
confess;  and  Twiddie  answered  just  as  frankly: 

"  No,  indeed.  I  light  Uncle  Shim's,  and  Tough- 
heel's  too  — 

We  all  laughed,  and  Malory  said  with  mock  plead 
ing  in  his  voice : 

"  Then  won't  you  add  my  pipe  to  the  list?  " 


22O       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will  —  wait  till  I  get  the  box, 
and  I  '11  light  them  all." 

Sure  enough,  when  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim  had 
finished  their  supper,  the  table  had  been  cleared  and 
set  away,  and  they  had  all  gathered  in  and  around 
the  Pen,  —  for  the  night  was  warm,  —  Twjddie  lighted 
the  four  pipes,  "  In  the  order  of  primogeniture,"  Dick 
said.  At  any  rate,  she  lighted  his  last.  Then,  when 
the  smoke  curled  upward  from  the  Pen,  our  talk 
ranged  from  Olympus  to  Rome,  from  Scawsville  to 
the  Frohe  Alp,  and  just  before  we  separated  for  the 
night,  Malory  told  us  of  Trudel's  wedding. 

I  noticed  Twiddie  listened  as  if  fascinated.  She 
was  within  the  Pen,  near  me,  on  a  low  stool  of  her 
own.  In  her  absorption  she  had  leaned  forward  with 
both  elbows  on  the  railing,  her  chin  in  her  palms. 
It  was  late,  about  eleven ;  the  moon  was  rising  to  the 
east  of  Killington,  and  its  level,  white  light  touched 
the  girl's  face  into  a  Madonna-like  beauty.  I  saw 
that  Dick  was  telling  it  all  to  her  —  telling  it  well 
too.  At  times  I  heard  Aunt  Lize  sniff;  at  others, 
Uncle  Shim  chuckle  softly  to  himself,  particularly 
when  Malory  described  the  wedding-procession,  and 
the  advance  guard  of  the  musicians,  followed  by  the 
six  goats  washed  and  scrubbed  within  an  ace  of  losing 
their  hair;  how  they  nipped  along  with  wreaths  of 
wild  Alpine  flowers  about  their  horns,  followed  by 
the  cow,  likewise  adorned  with  one  around  her  neck, 
two  bells  on  a  leather  collar  at  her  throat,  and  long 
strands  of  red  yarn  braided  into  her  tail.  And  all  so 
decorous ! 

But   when  he  told   of  the   simple  service    in   the 


The  Love  of  Man  221 

village  church,  of  the  robed  priest,  the  village  choir, 
the  chamois-hunter  in  the  roll-chair  that  Madeline 
had  provided ;  of  Trudel  in  her  gay  skirt,  her  em 
broidered  blue  bodice  and  the  silver  chain  —  another 
of  Madeline's  gifts — and  how  she  knelt  by  the  roll- 
chair  to  pray,  and  Hansl  laid  his  hands  upon  her 
bowed  head,  —  I  heard  a  sob  beside  me,  and  Twiddie 
rose  with  a  sudden,  impetuous  movement  and  flung 
herself  forward  across  the  threshold  of  my  door.  We 
did  not  see  her  again  that  night. 

Those  next  two  days  passed  all  too  quickly  for 
Malory ;  I  saw  that  plainly.  But  I  was  n't  sorry  to 
have  him  go ;  for  I  felt  that  Philip  would  not  be  quite 
himself  until  he  should  be  alone  with  me.  We  had 
seen  so  much  of  each  other  from  time  to  time  during 
the  last  two  years,  he  had  been  so  much  to  me,  that  I 
had  learned  to  know  his  ways.  Since  this  last  coming 
of  his  I  knew  there  was  something  weighing  upon  his 
mind.  I  call  myself  his  "silent"  business  partner; 
for  he  is  a  man  of  large  affairs,  carrying  out  his 
father's  schemes,  which,  towards  the  last  of  his  life, 
assumed  colossal  business  proportions.  So  it  has 
come  about  that  he  has  run  up  for  a  day  or  two  to 
get,  as  he  terms  it,  a  true  perspective  through  my 
eyes.  My  eyes,  that  have  n't  seen  a  railroad  for 
years  !  It  amuses  me,  but  I  indulge  him  in  his  fancy 
that  he  is  getting  help  from  me.  I  see  he  thinks  he 
is,  and  therein  lies  all  of  help  there  is.  So  we  lay 
out  new  railroads,  make  combinations  of  others, 
discuss  syndicates,  brotherhoods,  travelling  libraries, 
employes'  disabilities'  insurance  —  anything,  every- 


222       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

thing,  along  the  trend  of  our  Country's  progress; 
and  at  all  times,  through  him,  I  touch  world  interests, 
and  am  in  the  thick  of  the  battle,  where  I  love  to  be. 
He  says  he  goes  away  rested  and  enlightened  !  I 
tell  him  he  leaves  me  stimulated  and  refreshed ;  so 
it 's  an  even  exchange. 

I  saw  he  felt  more  at  ease  the  very  evening  Dick 
left.  We  were  smoking  in  the  Pen  late  at  night.  All 
the  rest  were  abed,  and  the  silence  had  lasted  fully 
half  an  hour  before  he  spoke. 

"  Hugh,  I  suppose  you  Ve  had  your  eyes  opened 
as  to  Dick's  coming  up  here?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  had  n't  thought  of  it  before  —  she  's 
so  young." 

"  How  old  is  she  now?  " 

"  Seventeen  ;   eighteen  next  January." 

"  What  would  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  Think  of  what?  — You  mean  marriage  —  for  those 
two?" 

"  Yes ;  eventually  that  is  what  it  will  come  to,  if 
things  go  on  as  they  have  begun." 

"  But,  Philip  —  "  I  hesitated  without  knowing  why. 
I  suppose  I  was  feeling  my  way,  for  it  had  come  upon 
me  suddenly  after  all.  "  He  's  an  only  son,  is  n't 
he?" 

"What  if  he  is?"  The  question  sounded  sharp, 
unlike  him. 

"  I  know  '  what  if  he  is  '  is  all  right  in  theory,  but 
when  you  come  to  put  it  into  practice,  there  are  a 
good  many  things  you  will  have  to  reckon  with  —  " 

"  For  instance?  "  —  I  felt  he  was  pressing  me,  and 
my  impulse  was  to  resent  it  I  pulled  away  at 


The  Love  of  Man  223 

my  pipe  for  five  minutes;  that  always  helps;  then 
I  said : 

"  I  Ve  never  spoken  of  it  before,  but  I  take  it  for 
granted  you  know  of  her  parentage?  " 

"Well?  "     The  laconic  inquiry  irritated  me. 

"  Well,"  I  repeated,  "  it 's  just  here ;  no  one  knows 
who  her  father  was,  or  is,  and  the  girl  is  handicapped 
when  it  comes  to  men  of  Malory's  class  —  " 

He  interrupted  me  with  a  scornful :  "  Humph ! 
Was  it  the  girl's  fault?  And  what  is  this  talk  about 
'class'?  Seems  to  me  you  are  hedging  a  bit  with 
your  principles  as  set  forth  these  last  three  years  in 
the  Pen." 

Franz  Waldort's  wise  words  flashed  into  remem 
brance,  and  helped  me  to  keep  my  temper,  for  I  saw 
he  was  in  an  unusual  mood,  and  that  something  was 
stirring  in  the  dregs  of  his  life.  I  spoke  out  as  man 
to  man. 

"Philip,  if  you  Ve  got  anything  to  say — say  it; 
but  don't  keep  me  treading  water  this  way  any  longer. 
Let  me  touch  bottom  just  once,  and  perhaps  1  can 
answer  you.  Now,  go  ahead." 

In  reply,  his  hand  felt  for  mine  and  gripped  it  hard  ; 
then  we  both  pulled  away  in  silence  for  ten  minutes  and 
got  calmed  down.  When  he  next  spoke,  I  thought 
he  had  switched  us  both  off  the  track. 

"  Have  you  finished  that  last  batch  of  Balzac  I  sent 
you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  Ve  read  The  Village  Priest  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  re-read.  It  has  been  a  spiritual  eye- 
opener  for  me.  That  woman's  case  moved  me  pro- 


224      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

foundly;  in  fact,  it  was  like  looking  at  Twiddle's 
through  the  other  end  of  the  glass." 

"How?     I  don't  quite  follow  you." 

"  Why,  that  boy,  her  child,  had  reaped  the  benefit 
of  a  long  repentance  ;  and  it  was  a  woman  who  fought 
that  awful  spiritual  battle  in  the  thick  of  the  world.  But 
that  man  who  begot  Twiddie,  left  a  girl,  innocent  of 
any  wrong,  who  was  to  grow  to  womanhood  and  be 
obliged  to  fight  her  own  battle  without  knowing 
where  her  enemy  lay  in  ambush.  It  rouses  me  so 
when  I  see  her,  when  I  think  of  it,  that  I  curse  him 
for  a  poltroon ;  the  gallows  are  too  good  for  such. 
Don't  you  say  so?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  too  good."  I  could  scarcely  catch 
the  words,  but  I  heard  him  groan,  and,  straining  my 
eyes  in  the  light  of  the  waning  moon,  that  was  partly 
obscured  by  clouds,  I  saw  him  drop  his  head  into  his 
hands.  His  pipe  fell  to  the  floor,  and,  mechanically, 
he  put  his  foot  on  the  fire  and  stamped  it  out.  Then 
he  spoke : 

"  That  book  will  always  remain  a  marvel ;  the  ex 
pression  of  a  profound  insight  into  the  sinning  as  well 
as  the  redeeming  soul.  You  recall  the  attitude  of  the 
woman  to  her  confessor,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes;  and  in  reading  that  scene,  I  think  I  under 
stood  for  the  first  time  the  hold  of  the  Roman  Church 
upon  all  classes  of  its  communicants.  It  has  met  in 
the  provision  of  the  confessional  a  great,  unmet 
human  need,  perhaps  the  greatest  —  the  necessity 
that  a  human  being  finds,  once  at  least  in  his  life,  of 
disburdening  his  sin-laden  soul  upon  another.  All 
men  can't  find  Christ  in  Humanity  as  you  and  I  do, 


The  Love  of  Man  225 

Philip,  but  in  the  Human  they  may  find  Christ-like 
consolation,  and,  after  all,  it  may  be  only  a  con 
fusion  of  terms." 

"  You  are  anticipating  my  words,  Hugh.  I,  too, 
have  felt  the  need  of  confession,  and  now  I  have  come 
to  you  as  to  my  spiritual  Camaldoli  —  a  sanctuary  in 
truth—  He  interrupted  himself:  "  Do  you  feel  too 
much  of  the  night  air,  Hugh?  I'll  move  you  in  if 
you  do." 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said,  wondering  what  was  the  length  of 
his  tether,  and  when  he  would  come  to  the  end  of  it, 
"  I  often  sleep  out  here  in  midsummer." 

He  went  on :  "  You  recall  that  woman's  hair-shirt, 
and  the  r61e  it  played  in  her  life  and  the  lives  of 
others?" 

"  Indeed,  I  do ;  it  was  a  mortification  of  the  flesh, 
symbolic  of  the  mortification  of  the  soul ;  a  veritable 
scourge  to  her,  but  a  clothing  of  hundreds  of  others 
in  the  vestments  of  a  charitable  love  and  material 
well-being." 

"  Hugh,  /  wear  the  hair-shirt  of  philanthropy '."  I 
heard  him  draw  a  long  breath :  "  Thank  God,  I  have 
spoken  at  last !  I  am  going  to  tell  you  all,  even  if 
thereby  I  lose  your  friendship  —  "I  interrupted  him : 

"  Let  me  say  right  here,  Philip,  that  nothing, 
nothing  —  do  you  understand  ?  —  can  lessen  my  friend 
ship  for  you.  Tell  me  all,  without  reserve,  if  you 
can." 

"  I  know  by  that  note  you  've  struck  you  are  young 
yet,  Hugh;  but  don't  say  what  you  '11  do  or  what  you 
won't  do ;  you  may  swallow  your  own  words  yet,  for 
there  is  a  woman  in  the  case,  and  I  should  be  a  hypo- 

'5 


226      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

critc  to  allow  you  to  continue  to  idealize  me  as  you 
have  the  last  three  years." 

I  turned  sick  as  I  took  in  the  sense  of  what  he  was 
saying;   I   remember   looking  at  the  sickly,  waning 
moon,  and  thinking  it  looked  as  I  felt  so  suddenly  — 
old,  decrepit  in  spirit.     He  went  on  calmly  enough  to 
the  finish. 

"You  know  something  of  my  father's  ambition 
through  the  work  as  I  am  carrying  it  on,  Hugh,  but 
of  his  unbounded  ambition  for  me,  you  could  have  no 
idea  no  matter  what  I  might  tell  you.  To  understand 
that  would  necessitate  your  having  known  him  as  I 
knew  him  for  twenty-nine  years.  During  my  second 
year  in  college  —  I  went  to  Harvard,  following  the 
tradition  of  five  generations  —  our  relation  as  father 
and  son  very  nearly  suffered  shipwreck.  I  was  not 
eighteen  when  I  entered.  Perhaps  I  was  as  poorly 
equipped  for  the  hand  to  hand  scrimmage  with  college 
life  and  its  manifold  temptations  as  a  youth  could  be, 
for  I  had  known  little  of  the  influence  of  women. 

"  My  mother  died  when  I  was  born,  and,  after  the 
usual  nursery  governesses  and  tutors,  I  spent  two 
thirds  of  my  boy's  life  in  one  of  the  great  preparatory 
schools.  Then  I  was  pitched  in  with  two  or  three 
thousand  men  to  find  my  bearings  as  best  I  could, 
and  take  my  one  three-thousandth  chance  of  com 
ing  out  all  right  in  the  end. 

"  But  just  because  I  had  not  known  the  influence  of 
women  in  my  home  and  my  life,  I  idealized  them  to 
such  an  extent  that  I  failed  to  discern  the  clay  feet  of 
the  image.  I  have  knocked  a  man  down  for  speaking 


The  Love  of  Man  227 

an  ill  word  of  a  notorious  actress  in  my  presence,  and 
thrashed  a  junior  for  swearing  at  the  laundress  who 
did  up  shirts  for  both  of  us.  I  constituted  myself  the 
special  patron  of  the  hall  scrub-women,  and  at  the 
same  time  offered  my  incense  in  the  form  of  flowers 
and  bonbons  at  the  shrine  of  every  pretty  girl  at  the 
Harvard  Assemblies. 

"  In  my  sophomore  year,  while  I  was  at  home  for  my 
usual  Christmas  vacation,  I  went  into  one  of  the  large 
shops  that  sell  a  little  of  everything  to  buy  some  trifle 
for  an  old  servant  of  ours.  It  was  a  bitter  day,  and 
a  keen  wind  from  the  north  was  drawing  down  the 
Hudson.  As  I  passed  in  with  the  crowd  and  an 
Arctic  draught,  I  saw  a  girl  at  a  near-by  counter, 
which  was  unprotected  by  a  screen,  huddle  her  shiv 
ering  shoulders,  and  heard  her  say  to  the  girl  next 
her:  '  I  'm  frozen  stiff;  I  'd  get  out  of  this  if  I  could, 
you  bet.' 

"  I  saw  her  face,  pretty,  delicate  —  and  weak,  only 
I  was  n't  old  enough  to  know  that.  It  was  blue 
and  pinched  with  cold,  and  her  small,  shapely  hands 
were  half  numb  as  she  made  up  a  parcel  of  articles  I 
ordered  immediately  of  her.  I  can't  account  for  the 
suddenness  of  its  coming,  but  then  and  there  I  re 
volted  in  spirit  against  all  law,  order,  society ;  all  so- 
called  convention,  pre-established  principles  of  trade, 
and  against  a  deadly  commercialism  that  could  show 
such  a  resultant  of  its  forces. 

"  There  was  no  obstacle.  Within  the  two  weeks 
of  my  vacation  I  had  her  away  from  there  —  clothed 
and  fed  to  her  satisfaction,  after  a  regimen  of  no 
flannels,  a  continual  draught  of  icy  air,  and  starvation 


228      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

diet  on  a  salary  of  five  dollars  a  week.  When  I  went 
back  to  college,  I  established  her  in  Boston  in  a  small 
well-furnished  apartment,  and  for  a  few  months  I  was 
flattered  and  fooled  to  the  top  of  my  bent  —  and 
thought  I  was  happy !  Then  the  unexpected  hap 
pened  —  and  I  promised  to  marry  her  to  legitimatize 
the  child. 

"  That  plunge  into  cold  water  realities  brought  me 
to ;  but  by  that  time  my  father  had  in  some  way 
obtained  an  inkling  of  the  affair  and  came  on  unan 
nounced  to  see  me.  There  was  a  scene  —  I  don't 
like  to  recall  it ;  but  he  vowed  that  so  long  as  I  was 
a  minor  he  would  move  all  the  machinery  of  the  law 
to  prevent  my  disgracing  his  name  by  marrying  a 
good-for-naught  —  so  he  termed  her.  I  swore  I  would 
keep  my  word,  that  my  honor  was  more  to  me  than 
my  name.  You  should  have  heard  him  laugh  me  to 
scorn,  Hugh.  '  Honor !'  he  cried;  'you  fledgling 
fool !  You  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word  yet !  ' 
and  proceeded  to  try  to  break  me  on  the  wheel  of  his 
wrath,  his  pity  for  my  foolishness,  his  scorn  of  my 
weakness. 

"  I  could  n't  see  why  I  had  been  born,  when  I  flung 
away  from  him  at  twelve  o'clock  that  night,  and,  cross 
ing  the  bridge  over  the  Charles,  walked  aimlessly  till 
that  June  dawn. 

"  When  I  went  next  day  to  see  her,  she  was  gone, 
bag  and  baggage  —  nor  to  this  day  have  I  ever  found 
a  trace  of  her.  I  put  detectives  at  work ;  but  whether 
they  were  bribed  by  my  father,  or  whether  they 
worked  indifferently,  I  can't  say;  all  is,  she  was 
never  found.  I  accused  my  father  of  all  things  under 


The  Love  of  Man  229 

heaven  and  on  earth  in  regard  to  it,  but  he  preserved 
absolute  silence  and  let  my  impotent  rage  wear  itself 
out.  She  told  me  she  had  no  relations,  and,  as 
matter  of  fact,  no  letters  came  to  her  during  the  five 
months  I  knew  her.  She  gave  me  her  name,  but  I 
have  always  believed  it  to  have  been  a  fictitious  one. 
No  answers  to  the  advertisements  were  received. 

"But,  Hugh,  when  I  knew  she  was  gone  —  when  I 
stood  in  the  empty  apartment,  the  key  in  my  hand, 
and  realized  the  bond  had  been  but  a  rope  of  sand, 
I  drew  the  first  free  breath  for  months,  and  felt  as  if 
a  nether  millstone  had  slipped  from  my  neck. 

"  I  went  to  Europe  that  season,  for  I  had  refused  to 
go  home  ;  and  when  I  came  back  I  settled  into  the 
work  of  my  junior  year  determined  to  make  amends 
for  wasted  time. 

"  It  was  then  I  came  under  the  influence  of  that 
Preacher  of  preachers,  whose  life  may  still  be  read 
written  large  in  the  lives  of  thousands  of  men  who 
were  privileged  to  know  him,  to  hear  him,  to  follow 
where  he  led.  '  He  shall  drink  of  the  brook  in  the 
way,  therefore  shall  he  lift  up  his  head  ' ;  —  that  was 
the  key-note  to  my  life  that  he  struck.  There  are 
no  heights  for  me,  Hugh ;  those  are  for  other  men. 
My  work  lies  nearer  the  subsoil,  at  the  source  of 
the  springs  that  fill  the  little  runs,  the  '  brook  in  the 
way ' ;  it  is  there  I  gather  strength. 

"I  pleased  my  father  in  my  last  college  years,  and, 
to  please  him  further,  I  studied  two  years  in  Berlin 
and  took  my  Ph.D.  degree ;  my  work  lay  entirely 
along  economic  and  sociological  lines. 

"  '  Now,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Phil?  '  he  said  to 


230       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

me  the  morning  after  my  return,  as  we  sat  in  the 
library  trying  to  get  acquainted  with  each  other.  I 
was  ready  with  my  answer. 

" '  Let   me  work   shoulder   to  shoulder  with   you, 
father,  and   further   your   interests,'  —  he   nodded    a 
pleased,  and,  as    I    thought,    surprised    approval,  — 
'and,  meanwhile,  let  me  work  out  my  own  salvation 
along  my  own  lines  — ' 

"'And  those  are?'  He  interrupted  me  sharply, 
with  the  peculiar  lift  of  his  left  eyebrow  I  knew  so 
well. 

"  '  I  think  I  won't  tell  you  yet,  father,'  I  said  quietly 
enough,  but  my  heart  was  pounding  like  a  trip-ham 
mer,  for  I  had  always  dreaded  his  indignation  —  often, 
I  must  confess,  justified.  '  I  'm  twenty-four,  my  own 
master,  and  my  mother's  fortune  at  my  disposal  - 
No!  please  don't  say  anything,  father;  you  may 
trust  me  to  make  no  unworthy  use  of  it.' 

" '  See  to  it  that  you  do  not/  was  all  he  said ;  but 
I  noticed  his  face  went  white.  He  had  never  men 
tioned  my  mother  to  me  but  once,  and  that  was  at 
the  time  I  came  into  full  possession  of  my  inheritance. 
I  see  him  now,  as  he  sat  before  the  library  fire  in  his 
leather  smoker,  —  a  large,  heavy  man,  unbowed,  for 
he  was  only  fifty-nine.  Suddenly  he  bent  forward  and 
took  the  tongs  to  pick  up  a  brand  from  the  hearth. 

" '  Phil,'  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded  hoarse,  '  I 
want  to  live  long  enough  to  see  you  with  a  good  wife 
of  your  own,  some  woman  worthy  of  you ;  and  to 
hold  a  grandchild  on  my  knee.  Don't  disappoint  me 
in  this,  will  you?'  The  question  was  only  a  veiled 
demand ;  I  knew  that 


The  Love  of  Man  231 

"'Father,'  I  replied,  'why  bring  this  up  —  why 
keep  it  in  evidence  in  our  lives?  You,  and  you  only, 
know  how  matters  stand  with  me ;  so  long  as  I  do 
not  know  the  fate  of  that  other  —  the  fate  of  the  child 
that  was  to  be  — my  child  —  I  am  bound.  I  feel  that 
I  should  have  no  moral  right  to  belong  to  another. 
There  's  no  use  saying  anything  more  about  it.' 

"  '  Is  n't,  hey  ?  '  he  snorted.  I  could  see  the  working 
of  his  suppressed  wrath;  but  he  kept  himself  well  in 
hand. 

"'Don't  mistake  me,  father,'  I  went  on;  'I  don't 
love  her  — ' 

"  '  Love  her !  '  he  thundered,  '  I  should  think  not. 
My  son,  the  son  of  his  mother,  love  her — God  in 
Heaven,  Phil !  it  makes  me  sick  to  think  what  you  've 
got  to  live  through  yet  before  your  eyes  are  opened. 
Love  !  '  —  He  breathed  heavily.  '  Listen  to  me,  Phil, 
I  will  speak  once  —  and  heed  what  I  say.  I  had  my 
fling  like  other  men  when  I  was  young  —  then  I 
loved,  loved —  you  can't  understand  it  even  in  its 
repetition  — I  say,  your  mother.  I  would  have  waited 
a  lifetime  for  her — I  had  only  to  wait  ten  years.  She 
was  mine  for  two,  then  she  left  me.  I  have  walked 
alone  for  twenty-four  years;  and  to-day,  if  I  could 
but  see  her  shadow  —  her  shadow,  mark  you  —  on  the 
wall  there,  I  would  give  the  rest  of  my  life,  my  entire 
fortune,  yes,  even  you,  —  and  gladly,  if  I  might  em 
brace  it.  Now  you  have  heard  what  Love  is.' 

"  He  sat  back  again  in  the  chair,  and  his  hands 
hung  limp,  nerveless,  over  the  arms.  It  was  then  I 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  shadow  of  what  was  to 
come  —  he  died  of  paralysis  —  creep  over  his  face 


232      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

and  discolor  his  nails.  I  sprang  to  his  side,  and  for 
the  first  time,  in  the  presence  of  such  a  soul-rending 
revelation  of  a  man's  nature,  my  heart  went  out  to 
him  as  a  son's  to  a  father.  I  got  hold  of  his  hands 
to  chafe  them. 

"  '  Promise  me  you  will  marry  so,  sometime,  Phil.' 
His  breathing  was  still  labored. 

"  '  Father,  father,'  I  groaned,  'I  cannot — spare  me  ; 
I  dare  not  until —  Oh,  if  I  had  that  mother,  she  would 
know,  would  understand,  would  make  you  see.' 

"  '  That  '11  do,  Phil,'  he  said,  but  without  withdraw 
ing  his  hands;  'you  need  not  bring  your  mother 
into  the  matter;  still  I  understand.  I  'm  not  blaming 
you.  It  is  only  the  ever  new,  the  ever  old  case  of 
Fathers  and  Sons  —  the  book  is  on  my  shelf  there ; 
- 1  Ve  needed  a  woman's  hand  on  the  helm  all  these 
years ;  I  should  have  been  a  different  man,  and  you 
—  God  help  you  !  no  mother,  no  wife —  He  broke 
off  there,  told  me  to  ring  for  the  carriage  and  come 
down  to  the  office  with  him. 

"  After  that  I  was  with  him  constantly.  He  came 
in  time  even  to  take  note  of  my  special  work,  and 
I  think  in  his  heart  he  approved,  although  he  never 
mentioned  it.  That  work  can  be  laid  before  you  in 
a  few  words.  I  found  wherever  I  went,  into  the 
by-ways,  as  well  as  along  the  highways,  many  an  un 
fathered  child,  boy  or  girl.  Of  course  I  was  looking 
for  them  ;  and  with  the  thought  of  my  own  unfathered 
child  ever  with  me,  I  stood  sponsor  to  such  children, 
that  Life  should  not  browbeat  them,  that  the  world's 
cold  water  should  not  quench  all  their  joung  enthu 
siasms  and  aspirations. 


The  Love  of  Man  233 

"  There  are  now  over  thirty  who  look  to  me  for 
fatherly  advice,  for  help,  for  love.  But  they  know 
me  only  as  their  friend.  They  are  scattered  far  and 
wide,  even  as  the  sins  of  man  —  sporadic.  Coming 
up  on  the  stage,  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle  let  fall  a  word  in 
his  garrulous  county  gossip  of  Twiddle's  birth ;  that 
is  why  I  came  up  here  the  first  time.  But  I  found 
her  protected  by  such  a  bulwark  of  love  that  I  knew 
she  had  no  need  of  me.  On  the  contrary,  I  found  I 
had  need  of  all  on  Olympus.  Still,  I  have  hoped 
that,  in  time,  I  might  be  allowed  to  do  something  for 
her;  but  I  have  never  dared  ask.  Now  that  Dick 
Malory  must  be  reckoned  with  as  an  element  in  our 
life  here,  perhaps  the  way  is  opened  to  me.  However, 
we  '11  talk  that  over  when  I  come  up  in  November  — 
You're  cold,  Hugh;  I  felt  you  shiver  —  "  He  broke 
off  abruptly;  his  hand  had  been  on  my  cot.  "I'm 
going  to  get  you  in  at  once."  He  struck  a  match  to 
look  at  his  watch. 

"  A  quarter  of  one  !  "  He  exclaimed  at  his  thought 
lessness,  and  moved  me  in ;  then  he  made  up  a  good 
fire,  which  soon  warmed  me  through  and  through. 

"How  about  the  friendship  now,  Hugh?"  He 
was  laying  a  stick  on  the  fire,  softly,  not  to  awaken 
the  others,  so  I  could  not  see  his  face,  but  his  voice 
spoke  for  him. 

"  Come  here,  Philip,"  I  said.  He  came  and  sat 
beside  me  on  the  cot,  and,  taking  my  right  hand 
between  his,  chafed  it, —  gently,  with  almost  a  woman's 
touch,  —  for  it  was  cold.  It  wasn^t  easy  for  me  to 
acknowledge  my  sin  even  in  the  face  of  his. 

"Philip,"  I  said,  "there  are  sins  and  sins;  I,  too, 


234      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

have  a  confession.  For  nearly  two  years  I  cursed 
my  Maker  day  and  night,  and  I  could  not  die.  I 
not  only  cursed  Him,  but  I  cursed  every  living  thing 
that  had  the  power  of  locomotion —  and  man  in  His 
image.  Yet,  out  of  the  depths,  even  my  cursings 
were  heard  and  interpreted  as  prayer;  a  man's  hand 
was  sent  to  grasp  mine  —  even  as  it  grasps  mine 
now.  No,  no,  Philip  —  first  the  beam  out  of  our 
own  eyes  — 

I  felt  two  hot  tears  plash  on  my  hand,  then  his 
head  was  bowed  upon  it,  and  my  left  hand  rested  on 
his  hair.  "  Tell  me  the  rest,  Philip,"  I  said,  half  an 
hour  afterwards. 

"  It 's  too  late,  Hugh  ;  you  '11  be  worn  out." 

"  Oh,  no ;  it  will  help  to  fill  those  night-watches  of 
which  I  have  written  you.  I  have  so  many  of  them, 
even  now."  He  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  cot. 

"  My  father  died,  suddenly,  when  I  was  twenty- 
nine,  but  not  before  he  had  seen  something  of  the 
truth  of  his  words  to  me  verified ;  for,  two  years 
before,  I  had  met  the  woman  without  whose  com 
panionship  my  life  will  prove,  in  a  measure,  abor 
tive.  He  knew  and  admired  her  —  loved  her  in  his 
direct,  uncompromising  way;  and  she  understood 
him  far  better  than  I ;  she  knew  how  to  make  him 
unbend,  how  to  soften  him.  I  saw  then  what  my 
mother,  had  she  lived,  might  have  made  of  him. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  knew  it,  Hugh ;  I  can  only 
say  I  knew  that  she  was  my  mate  —  not  another's  — 
in  the  highest  interpretation  of  that  word,  and  what 
it  implies  of  that  perfect  spiritual  and  intellectual  at- 
oneness  which,  together  with  that  third  factor  —  an 


The  Love  of  Man  235 

all-powerful  physical  attraction  —  in  the  trinity  of 
forces  denominated  Love,  is  the  complement  of  what 
we  call  '  I,  myself.'  It  was  the  '  sense  of  the  identity 
of  soul,'  indestructible  even  if  the  body  perished,  even 
if  I  were  never  to  possess  the  body.  These  things 
are  of  the  mysteries,  Hugh,  and  admit  of  no  last 
analysis.  When  I  began  to  realize  the  strength  of 
my  love,  to  know  that  every  fibre  of  me,  spiritual, 
intellectual,  physical,  was  vibrant  to  her  every  fibre, 
I  felt  the  weight  of  those  fetters  of  that  '  early  indis 
cretion/  as  we  men  term  it,  chafe  until,  figuratively 
speaking,  they  performed  the  office  of  the  regulation 
hair-shirt. 

"  I  have  never  told  her  my  love,  but  I  know  I  must 
have  shown  it,  despite  the  restraint  I  put  upon  myself; 
for,  Hugh,  souls  may  kiss  when  the  lips  are  uttering 
commonplaces.  What  was  the  use  of  my  speaking? 
I  should  have  had  to  tell  her  all.  She  would  have 
been  repelled ;  I  know  her  purity  of  thought.  I 
could  not  ask  her  to  be  my  wife,  bound  as  I  con 
sidered  myself  to  be.  I  think  —  God  knows  I  am 
humble  enough  in  saying  this  —  she  began  to  realize 
that  she  might  come  to  love  me.  But  she  is  a 
woman  who  keeps  herself  under  in  a  way,  and  only 
once  during  the  years  that  she  knew  me  did  she 
speak  to  me  through  her  eyes.  Then  I  read  her 
soul  through  them. 

"  It  was  time  to  call  a  halt;  I  could  at  least  spare 
her.  It  seemed  cruel ;  and  sometimes  I  have  felt  that 
I  may  have  been  thoughtless ;  perhaps  just  the  avowal 
of  my  love  would  have  helped  her,  although  I  am 
sure  she  knew  it  without  words.  But  women  are 


236      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

women,  and  men  are  men;  and  whereas  she  might 
have  welcomed  the  acknowledgment  of  my  feeling 
towards  her,  and  contented  herself  as  women  do  in 
stress  of  circumstance  with  just  that  and  its  idealiza 
tion,  I  knew  that  I,  as  a  man,  should  break  every 
barrier  once  I  could  hear  from  her  lips  that  my  love 
was  returned.  So  I  have  safeguarded  myself — pos 
sibly  at  her  expense;  but  that  is  like  us  —  the  best  of 
us  are  inherently  selfish. 

"  She  comes  home  in  September.  She  put  the 
ocean  between  us,  I  think  to  help  me ;  and  I  have 
been  thinking  of  late  that  it  is  best  to  tell  her  all, 
once  and  for  all,  and  take  the  consequences.  But  I 
suffer  at  the  thought  of  losing  her  respect,  and  I 
suffer  more  at  the  thought  of  losing  her —  help  me, 
Hugh;  what  shall  I  do?"  He  bowed  his  head  into 
his  hands,  and  for  a  while  there  was  no  sound  in  the 
room  but  the  snapping  of  the  fire. 

All  the  time  he  had  been  occupied  with  his  confes 
sion  I  was  aware  of  two  distinct  states  of  consciousness : 
the  one  concerned  wholly  with  him  and  his  relation  to 
the  events  with  which  he  had  acquainted  me  ;  the  other 
concerned  wholly  with  my  relation  to  those  events,  the 
knowledge  of  which  must  effect  a  radical  change  in 
my  attitude  towards  myself  and  others. 

In  this  conscious  confusion  of  distinct  but  counter 
currents,  I  had  but  one  compass,  that  was — a  clearly 
recognizable  duty.  Out  of  my  depths  I  had  reached 
to  find  Philip  Vanever's  hand ;  out  of  his  depths  he 
was  reaching  to  find  mine,  and  it  should  not  fail  him ; 
I  realized  also,  without  logical  sequence  of  any  sort,  — 
and  the  realization  came  as  a  shock,  laming  me  in 


The  Love  of  Man  237 

feeling,  —  that  of  the  love  with  which  Philip  Vanever's 
father  had  loved  his  wife,  of  the  love  which  Philip 
himself  bore  to  Madeline  Cope,  of  the  love,  even, 
which  Franz  Waldort  had  given  her,  I  knew  as  yet 
only  the  initial  letter;  and,  with  an  uprising  of  the 
old-time  bitterness,  I  accepted  the  fact  that  such  as 
I  could  never  experience  that  bliss  or  that  torture. 
For  me  there  was  only  renunciation.  When  I  spoke, 
I  weighed  my  words. 

"  Philip,  I  believe  the  greatest  wrong  you  have 
done  is  in  having  kept  silence  so  long  —  how  many 
years?  "  —  "  Seven,  Hugh."  —  "  towards  the  woman 
you  love.  I  believe  that  other  of  whom  you  have 
told  me,  never  could  have  suffered  through  your  sin 
the  humiliation  that  this  one  whom  you  love  has  suf 
fered  through  your  silence.  Go  to  her,  Philip ;  tell 
her  all  as  you  have  told  me ;  her  love  will  stand  the 
test.  I  know  whereof  I  speak." 

By  the  light  of  the  fire  I  saw  a  change  pass  over 
his  face,  which  had  been  turned  towards  me  as  I  spoke 
with  a  strained  expression  wholly  unlike  his  usual 
controlled  serenity.  It  was  like  the  lifting  of  a  shadow 
to  show  every  feature  illumined  from  within. 

He  rose  and  stood  by  the  cot  silent  for  some 
minutes ;  then,  after  ministering  to  me,  he  seized  his 
cap  and  went  out  of  the  east  door,  whence  could  be 
dimly  seen  Killington  and  Pico  showing  black  against 
the  coming  dawn.  He  did  not  return  until  long  after 
sunrise  and  the  household  had  been  astir  for  an  hour. 

For  weeks  after  he  left  us  I  was  good  for  nothing 
—  lost  in  profitless  speculation,  to  the  neglect  of  my 


238       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

work,  Aunt  Lize,  and  Twiddle.  Finally  I  roused  my 
self  for  the  girl's  sake.  Where  were  our  evenings 
with  the  French  readings?  our  delightful  travels  with 
Reclus?  our  classifying  of  the  minerals  Franz  Waldort 
had  forwarded  to  her?  our  German  study?  our  game 
of  chess?  our  one  hour  a  week  with  Carlyle's  heroes, 
or  the  regular  Dickens  Club  at  which  Uncle  Shim 
and  Aunt  Lize  were  always  present,  an  absorbed  and 
emotional  audience? 

Already  Aunt  Lize  and  Betsey  Trotwood  were 
great  cronies,  and  Twiddie  had  again  and  again  to 
read  the  "  donkey  scene  "  for  her  delight.  Twiddie 
was  devoted  to  Little  Nell  and  Little  Em'ly,  and 
Uncle  Shim  had  enshrined  in  his  heart  Mr.  Peggotty 
and  Ham.  In  my  waking  hours  I  roared  over  Pick 
wick  till  the  rafters  rang,  but  in  my  dreams  I  kept 
company  with  a  little  lame  boy,  my  small  brother  in 
misfortune,  Tiny  Tim. 

I  went  to  work  with  a  vim  one  frosty  morning  in 
November,  and  Aunt  Lize,  hearing  the  unwonted  con 
fusion,  looked  in  after  breakfast. 

"  I  begun  ter  think  't  wuz  most  time  ter  put  up  them 
coffin-plates  agin,  Hughie,"  she  remarked  drily,  wip 
ing  the  suds  from  her  arm  with  her  apron.  "  It 's  ben 
'bout  ez  solemn  ez  er  fun'ral  in  here  ever  scnce  Mr. 
Vanever  left,  'n'  I,  fer  one,  much  ez  I  like  him,  wished 
he  'd  keep  erway  ef  sech  doin's  is  goin'  ter  be  the 
upshot  of  the  visits."  I  laughed  at  the  vision  of 
the  "coffin-plates"  on  my  mantel  with  its  present 
accessories. 

"It's  not  Philip  Vanever's  fault,  Aunt  Lize,  it's 
mine;  it 's  been  my  moulting-season,  that 's  all." 


The  Love  of  Man  239 

"  I  'm  glad  ter  know  what  't  wuz ;  I  thought  mebbe 
ye  wuz  bilious,  ye  hain't  looked  jest  nat'ral  lately. 
But  ye  seem  all  right  this  mornin',  V  it  gives  me 
courage  ter  begin  ter  think  er  Thanksgivin'.  Mr. 
Vanever  hain't  never  seen  er  real  old-fashioned,  New 
England  one,  'n'  I  promised  ter  go  the  hull  rigger, 
even  ter  hevin'  the  spinnin'-wheel  down,  'n'  the  reel." 

"  He 's  looking  forward  to  it,  Aunt  Lize ;  we 
could  n't  celebrate  very  well  without  him  this  year, 
for  we  owe  so  much  to  him  —  all  this  work  that  has 
helped  us  pay  off  the  mortgage.  Just  look  at  that 
for  my  bank  account !  "  I  drew  out  my  bank-book 
from  beneath  the  cot  and  showed  her  the  balance  of 
three  hundred  dollars.  She  gazed  at  it  admiringly. 

"  And  that  is  n't  all.  The  California  check  is  due 
for  the  last  of  the  carvings  —  five  hundred  more. 
Is  n't  that  a  noble  balance,  and  the  mortgage  paid  off 
to  the  last  cent?  " 

"  Oh,  Hughie  !  Seems  ez  if  I  could  n't  sleep  nights 
jest  fer  thinkin'  how  hard  ye  Ve  worked  fer  it  —  'n' 
he  's  so  awful  rich ;  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle  says  the  folks 
down  ter  Alderbury  know  all  'bout  his  father,  'n'  it 
seem  ez  ef —  ez  ef —  " 

"What,  Aunt  Lize?" 

"  Ez  ef  the  Bible  wuz  truer  'n'  truer  the  older  ii 
gits." 

I  began  to  laugh,  for  her  startlingly  illogical  se 
quences  never  fail  to  produce  —  contrary  to  all  reason 
ing  —  a  distinctly  common-sense  conclusion.  "  That 's 
a  good  sign  for  the  noble  book,  Aunt  Lize ;  come, 
say  out  what  you  have  tucked  away  there  under  your 
sweeping-cap."  She  smiled  tremulously. 


240      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"I  ain't  denyin'  but  he  's  jest  splendid,  Hughie,  but 
ef  he  's  so  rich,  'n'  yer  friend,  what 's  he  let  ye  work 
yer  fingers  ter  the  bone  fer  when  he  could  pay  up  the 
hull  thing — not  thet  I  don't  b'lieve  in  bein'  inde 
pendent  ez  long  ez  ye  can  —  'n'  be  no  poorer  fer  it? 
I  never  git  stuck  threadin'  er  needle  'thout  thinkin'  er 
thet  rich  man  'n'  the  needle's  eye." 

"  Come  here,  Aunt  Lize,  please." 

She  came  to  the  side  of  the  cot  and  stood  there 
with  her  thumbs  and  forefingers  twirling  the  corners 
of  her  apron  —  a  sign  I  knew  so  well. 

"You  don't  know  Philip  Vanever;  there's  no 
'  needle's  eye '  for  him,  I  can  assure  you.  Three 
years  ago  he  wanted  to  place  at  my  disposal  a  sum 
that  would  see  you  and  me  and  Uncle  Shim,  and  even 
Twiddle,  through  in  comfort  and  plenty.  I  refused 
it — and  why?  Because  he  had  been  the  means  of 
bringing  to  me  here  on  this  mountain-top  something 
which  no  money  could  provide,  something  which 
money  cannot  buy,  something  wholly  beyond  price 
—  the  salvation  of  work,  Aunt  Lize,  and  through 
my  work  the  heaven  of  my  art;  and  to  have  owed 
my  support  to  any  man  while  my  art  was  crying 
within  me  for  life,  would  have  been  a  moral,  and,  in 
the  end,  a  speedy  physical  death."  Aunt  Lize  drew 
back  in  a  curious,  awed  way. 

"  Ye  're  jest  like  yer  father,  Hughie ;  ye  'd  oughter 
ben  er  preacher.  I  wished  yer  mother  hed  lived  ter 
hear  ye."  She  stooped  and  kissed  me  :  an  unwonted 
demonstration  on  her  part. 

"  But  he  does  want  to  do  something  now  for  Twid- 
die,  Aunt  Lize,  what  I  want  to  do  and  can't;  and  who 


The  Love  of  Man  241 

knows  "-  —  I  struck  a  lighter  note  —  "  you  may  see 
her  dressed  in  silks  and  '  satin  shoon '  and  driving 
behind  her  '  coach  and  six,'  if  we  let  him  have  his 
way." 

Aunt  Lize's  eyes  sparkled.  "  I  '11  take  it  all  back, 
Hughie.  I  hadn't  oughter  spoke  ez  I  did;  but  it's 
grind,  grind,  grind,  day  in  day  out,  'n'  sometimes  I 
git  mad  at  rich  folks  'thout  jest  knowin'  why  nuther." 
Then  she  was  off  at  a  tangent.  "  I  heerd  Mr.  Malory 
tell  Twiddle  he  'd  never  seen  er  real  New  England 
country  Thanksgivin',  'n'  I  sorter  thought  he  wuz 
fishin'  fer  'n  invitation.  He  seems  ter  be  er  likely 
'nough  young  man,  Hughie."  She  tried  to  hide  it, 
but  I  read  it  all  in  her  eyes,  and  in  the  way  in  which 
she  smoothed  down  her  apron  with  both  hands. 
Woman-like,  she  was  planning  a  match. 

"  You  think  he  likes  Twiddie,  Aunt  Lize?  "  I  asked 
abruptly. 

"  My  land  !  how  ye  scairt  me,  Hughie  !  Why,  who 
said  anything  'bout  likin'  thet  child  ?  "  She  parried 
adroitly. 

"  She  's  no  longer  a  child,  you've  been  telling  me 
that  these  last  four  years,  and  anybody  that  has  an 
eye  can  see  why  he  comes  up  here."  She  took  the 
bait. 

"  'N'  did  ye  see  it  too,  Hughie,  'n'  never  let  on?" 
she  said  eagerly,  crossing  the  room  to  close  the  door 
into  the  kitchen. 

Now  perhaps  another  man  can  tell  why  I  did  just 
what  I  did.  As  Aunt  Lize  turned  from  me  to  close 
the  door,  I  raised  my  right  fist  and  shook  it  vigorously 
at  her  back!  My  Aunt  Lize !  Then  I  took  up  my 

16 


242      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

tools  and  told  her  I  had  work  to  finish,  but  that  I 
would  ask  Twiddle,  as  she  seemed  the  one  to  be  con 
sulted,  whether  or  not  she  would  like  Dick  Malory 
as  our  guest  over  Thanksgiving. 

"  Where  is  Twiddie  now?  " 

"Up  in  her  room  puttin'  up  them  curtains;  I  can 
tell  ye  it 's  goin'  ter  look  neat  with  all  thet  rose-bud 
cotton  stuff  Mis'  Cope  sent  her." 

"  Tell  her  to  come  in  here  when  she  gets  through, 
will  you?  " 

"  Yes.  She  told  me  she  warn't  goin'  ter  hev  this 
room  outshine  hern,  ef  she  could  help  it.  It  does 
beat  all,  Hughie,  what  er  change  ye  Ve  made,  'n'  the 
Pen,  'n'  everything.  Thet 's  what  ye  call  Art,  I  s'pose." 
She  laughed  in  her  pleasant,  contented  fashion  :  "  I  '11 
show  ye  my  Art  'bout  Thanksgivin'  time." 

"  It's  a  noble  one,  Aunt  Lize,"  and  I  meant  what  I 
said.  I  heard  Twiddie  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Twiddie  !  "  I  called ;   "  come  here  a  minute." 

"  I  can't,  Hugh;   I  'm  busy." 

"Just  a  minute." 

"  Are  you  aiufnlly  busy  too?  " 

"  No,  any  amount  of  time  on  my  hands  —  do 
come." 

"  Well,  in  a  minute."  She  came  in,  demure  in  her 
great  bib-apron  —  she  is  always  most  provoking  in 
that  —  a  dish,  a  bundle,  and  a  small  knife  in  her 
hands. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  are  n't  busy,  Hugh,"  she  said 
sweetly. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  'm  swamped  with  work,  and  here  arc 


The  Love  of  Man  243 

four  pounds  of  raisins  I  want  you  to  seed.  Aunt  Lize 
is  going  to  begin  on  the  pies  to-morrow."  She  put 
everything  down  on  the  bench. 

"  But  I  hate  to  seed  raisins,  Twiddie,  you  know 
well  enough." 

"  I  know  you  do,"  she  replied,  still  with  dangerous 
sweetness,  "  and  I  propose  to  ameliorate  your  state  of 
mind  while  you  are  thus  occupied  by  sitting  here  and 
resting  me  a  bit  while  I  read  '  Carlyle  '  to  you." 

"  Oh,  Carlyle  go  to  grass !  "  I  muttered. 

"  Why,  but  it 's  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship  !  "  she 
said  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "  and  you  always  - 

"No,  I  don't  always,"  I  interrupted  her;  "not  in 
the  middle  of  the  forenoon  with  my  fingers  all  stuck 
up  with  the  moist,  unpleasant  things." 

She  laughed,  softly,  merrily.  "  Goodness,  Hugh  ! 
I  thought  you  were  going  to  swear;  'moist  un 
pleasant'  sounds  dreadfully  profane." 

"  Now,  look  here,  Twiddie,  I  '11  have  no  non 
sense —  " 

"  Nor  I,"  she  interrupted,  flouncing  out  of  the  room, 
and  leaving  me  with  the  darned  job  on  my  hands.  I 
went  to  work  with  a  vengeance. 

"  Twiddie  !  "  I  called  softly  about  ten  minutes  after 
wards.  There  was  no  answer,  but  I  knew  she  was 
somewhere  within  hearing. 

"  Twiddie  !  "  I  called  again,  "  would  you  mind  bring 
ing  me  a  bit  of  rag?  I  've  cut  my  finger." 

"  Oh,  Hugh  !  "  there  was  a  genuine,  melting  tender 
ness  of  anxiety  in  her  voice  that  made  me  chuckle 
under  my  breath.  I  heard  her  scurrying  about  for 
string,  rag,  and  arnica  bottle ;  then  in  she  flew. 


244      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"  Here,  let  me  bind  it  up  for  you  —  you  poor  dear. 
Which  finger  is  it?" 

"Am  I  a  'dear,'  Twiddie,  honor  bright?''  I  said 
wheedlingly,  but  hiding  my  hand. 

"  Of  course  you  are — at  times.  Now  be  good, 
and  let  me  put  on  the  rag." 

I  held  out  my  third  finger,  on  which  an  infinitesi 
mal  drop  of  blood  was  oozing  from  a  tiny  scratch  I 
had  given  myself  to  excite  her  sympathy. 

"  Hugh  !  "  She  started  back  when  she  understood 
my  feint,  but  not  before  I  had  caught  and  held  her 
by  her  two  hands. 

"  Let  me  go,  Hugh."  Her  eyes  flashed  danger 
ously  ;  I  love  to  see  her  so. 

"  I  can't,  Twiddie ;   I  want  company." 

"  Hugh  —  '  she  stamped  her  foot  and  set  her 
pretty  teeth,  "you  —  you  are  abominable!" 

"  Only  at  times;  at  others,  you  know,  I  am  a —  " 

"  Hugh  Armstrong,  let  me  go.  I  've  no  time  to 
waste  on  you." 

"On  one  condition,  Twiddie  —  easy  there,  don't 
pull  away  so;  you  can't  go  until  I  choose  to  have 
you." 

"What's  that?" 

"  That  you  will  sit  here  with  me  till  I  've  finished 
this  job  you  've  foisted  on  me.  I  want  to  talk, 
Twiddie." 

"About  what?" 

"  Dick  Malory." 

"Oh!" 

Such  a  radiant  "  Oh  !  "  I  was  n't  quite  prepared  for, 
I  must  say,  accompanied  as  it  was  by  a  flashing  smile. 


The  Love  of  Man  245 

"  That 's  something  worth  talking  about ;  just  let 
me  get  the  citron  to  slice  while  I  'm  sitting  here, 
and  you  may  talk  on  that  subject  as  long  as  you 
like  —  the  longer  the  better,"  she  added,  as  I  let 
her  go. 

"  The  deuce  I  may  !  "  I  muttered.  She  was  back 
and  seated  with  her  work  beside  me  in  less  time  than 
it  takes  to  tell. 

"  Now,  let 's  begin,"  she  said  with  apparently  joyous 
anticipation.  I  growled  out  something ;  this  was  not 
according  to  my  program.  She  took  the  initiative, 
and  I  felt  outflanked. 

"  He  told  me  he  had  never  seen  an  old-fashioned 
Thanksgiving;  I  know  he  would  like  a  taste  of  Aunt 
Lize's  mince-pies.  —  Look  out,  Hugh !  You  're 
wasting  the  raisins,  cutting  so  deep." 

"  M.  Y.  B.,"  I  said,  half  laughing  at  my  novel  method 
of  venting  my  irritation. 

"  What 's  that?  "  she  said  brightly,  "  Dick?  " 

"So  it's  come  to  that,  has  it?  "  I  asked  severely. 
"  Seems  to  me  your  acquaintance  has  progressed 
rather  rapidly." 

"  Why,  no,  Hugh."  She  looked  up  in  innocent 
surprise.  "  I  've  known  him  three  years,  besides,  —  " 
she  manufactured  a  charming  blush,  —  "you  know 
we  corresponded  all  the  time  he  was  in  Europe." 

"  The  deuce  you  did  !  Well,  this  is  news  to  me. 
How  often,  may  I  ask?" 

"  Of  course,  Hugh,  you  know  you  really  have  no 
right  to  ask  —  only  Uncle  Shim  has  that;  but  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  if  you  want  to  know.  Not  quite  so 
often  as  you  have  written  Miss  Cope,  but  I  managed 


246       The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

to  send  off  one  to  Dick  almost  every  time  I  took  one 
of  yours  to  her  down  to  the  mail." 

"  Humph  !  " 

"  Please  interpret,"  she  said  with  all  seriousness. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Twiddie  ;  I  am  in  dead  earnest  —  " 

"  So  am  I,"  she  hastened  to  say,  puckering  her 
lips,  while  she  busily  sliced  the  citron. 

"  If  you  want  him  up  here  for  Thanksgiving,  just 
say  so.  Of  course,  it 's  my  house,  but  any  guest  of 
yours  would  be  welcome." 

She  laughed  a  little  before  she  spoke,  and  I 
caught  the  mischief  in  the  curving  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

"  Who  said  I  wanted  him  up  here  for  Thanksgiving  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  said  yourself  you  — 

"  No,  I  did  n't,  Hugh."  She  shook  her  head  em 
phatically.  "  I  said  he  said  he  had  never  seen  an  old- 
fashioned  country  Thanksgiving,  and  that 's  quite 
another  matter." 

"  But  don't  you  want  him  to  come  up  here?  I 
insist  upon  your  answering  me,  for  if  I  've  got  to 
write  his  invitation  I  want  to  know  my  ground." 

Suddenly  she  looked  up  from  her  work.  "  Do  you 
want  me  to  want  him  to  come,  Hugh?  Because  if 
you  do,  I  '11  say  so  to  oblige  you."  I  knew  by  her 
look  we  had  both  reached  the  limits  of  persiflage. 

"  Twiddie,  I  don't  want  you  to  want  him  to  come, 
selfish  as  that  may  sound ;  but  if  you  do  want  him, 
whether  I  want  you  to  or  not,  I  '11  write  him  as  cordial 
an  invitation  as  I  know  how." 

An  expression  showed  for  an  instant  in  her  eyes 
that  I  failed  to  interpret. 


The  Love  of  Man  247 

"  And  I  'm  selfish  too,  Hugh,  and  should  love  just 
this  year  to  celebrate  our  Thanksgiving  with  only  us 
four  who  belong  here." 

"No  more?" 

"  '  Us  four,  no  more,'  "  she  quoted,  smiling,  but  in 
all  earnest. 

"  I  should  like  to  say  '  Amen,'  Twiddie,  if  it  were  n't 
for  Philip  Vanever;  he  is  a  lonely  man,  and  my 
friend." 

"But  he  seems  like  one  of  us,  Hugh;  he  is 
different." 

"How,  Twiddie?" 

"  He  has  suffered  more  than  Dick  Malory." 

I  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  What  do  you  know 
about  suffering,  Twiddie?  —  you  who  have  been  so 
sheltered  in  our  love?"  Just  then  Aunt  Lize  called 
to  her  from  the  kitchen.  She  sprang  up.  "  I  must 
go,  Hugh.  Here,  give  me  the  dish  —  you've  done 
them  beautifully ;  I  '11  do  the  rest.  I  '11  get  a  wet 
towel  for  your  hands." 

"  Your  praise  is  reward  enough,  Lady  Theodora." 
She  beamed  on  me. 

That  same  day,  at  the  close  of  one  of  our  old-time 
delightful  evenings  with  our  French,  our  game  of 
chess,  and  merry  chat,  as  she  bade  me  good- night, 
standing  in  the  doorway  with  a  lighted  candle  in  her 
hand,  I  called  her  to  me: 

"Twiddie  —  " 

"Well,  Hugh?" 

"  Come  nearer  to  me  and  give  me  your  hand." 
She  drew  near,  but  did  not  offer  me  her  hand. 

"  You  say  Uncle  Shim  alone  has  the  right  to  ask 


248       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

you  such  —  such  private  questions  about  correspond 
ence,  but  are  you  willing  to  tell  me  if  you  showed 
those  letters  to  Uncle  Shim?  " 

"  No,  Hugh,  Uncle  Shim  knows  nothing  about 
them ;  but  I  read  them  all  to  Aunt  Lize." 

"Ah  —  I  see."     I  felt  relieved. 

"What,  Hugh?" 

"  Through  a  barn  door  when  it  is  wide  open,"  I 
made  reply,  smiling  to  myself. 

"You're  very  provoking."  I  realized  then  that, 
without  intention,  I  had  seriously  offended  her,  and, 
as  I  knew  by  experience,  that  was  a  risk  it  would  not 
be  wise  to  run. 

"  Twiddie,  come  back !  "  I  cried.  There  was  no 
answer,  but  I  heard  her  go  upstairs  to  her  room.  I 
called  again.  Then  I  took  my  shepherd's  crook  and 
rapped  sharply  on  the  wall  ;  that  is  my  signal  when  I 
am  in  urgent  need  of  something. 

Aunt  Lize  flew  in  in  her  nightcap  and  gown,  her 
eyes  wide  with  excitement. 

"What  d'ye  want,  Hugh?  I  wuz  jest  gittin'  inter 
bed ;  I  knew  Shim  would  be  in  in  er  minute  to  put 
you  ter  rights ;  he  's  gone  out  ter  the  barn." 

"  I  want  to  see  Twiddie,  Aunt  Lize.  She  is  angry 
with  me,  and  you  know  what  you  taught  us  both 
about  not  letting  the  sun  go  down  upon  our  wrath; 
anyway,  I  don't  want  it  to  rise  on  hers  —  you  know, 
yourself,  that  is  n't  so  pleasant." 

"  Thet 's  so,"  said  Aunt  Lize,  emphatically; 
"what's  she  mad  'bout?" 

"  Oh,  the  way  I  said  something  to  her." 

"  I  don't  blame  her  er  mite.     Ye  hev  er  dretfully 


The  Love  of  Man  249 

masterful  way  with  ye  of  sayin'  er  thing  —  it  riles  me 
clear  through.  I  '11  call  her,  though." 

She  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs;  I  heard  her 
speak  and  Twiddie  answer  her.  Then  I  waited.  At 
last  I  heard  her  coming  through  the  kitchen.  She 
stood  again  in  the  doorway  —  a  white  clinging  woollen 
wrapper  thrown  about  her,  her  hair  hanging  in  long 
braids,  the  candle  lighting  her  flushed,  resentful  face. 

"  Twiddie,  tell  me  —  I  can't  sleep  unless  I  know; 
—  did  Dick  Malory  ever  begin  his  letters  '  Dearest 
Theodora  '  like  that  other  chap  ?  " 

"  No,  Hugh."     I  saw  her  face  soften. 

"  Does  that  other  chap  ever  write  you  so  now?  I 
have  n't  thought  to  ask  for  —  why,  it 's  nearly  three 
years !  " 

"  I  know  it  is.  No,  he  does  not  write  me  any 
more." 

"Why,  Twiddie?" 

"  He  has  forgotten  me,  Hugh." 

"Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Sure,  Hugh." 

"  Will  you  say  good-night  to  me,  Twiddie  ?  " 

"  Good-night,  Hugh." 

"  Twiddie,  give  me  your  hand  —  I  'm  not  satisfied." 

She  crossed  the  threshold  and  came  over  to  my 
cot.  She  gave  me  her  hand,  but  passively.  I  held  it 
a  moment,  nor  did  she  withdraw  it.  "  Twiddie,  do 
you  remember  years  ago  when  you  smiled  up  into 
my  face  —  sitting  here  beside  me  —  and  forgave  me, 
just  by  smiling?  " 

I  saw  the  flame  leap  upon  her  delicate  neck  —  the 
checks  —  the  temples ;  her  eyes  brimmed  with  tears. 


250      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

She  drew  away  her  hand,  but  not  before  she  had 
leaned  suddenly  above  me  and  smiled  down  into  my 
face.  She  caught  away  the  loosened  end  of  her  braid 
that  dropped  upon  my  forehead,  straightened  herself, 
and,  holding  one  hand  before  the  flame  of  the  candle, 
hurried  from  the  room. 

Those  next  three  weeks  were  filled  with  good 
things.  There  were  unwonted  preparations,  and  Aunt 
Lize  was  in  her  glory.  The  weather  was  stinging 
cold,  the  skies  lowery,  with  a  daily  spitting  of  snow; 
but  this  house  of  mine  was  filled  with  the  sunshine  of 
a  girl's  joyous  presence,  and  the  rooms  echoed  to 
her  merry  song  and  jest  and  laugh. 

One  afternoon  Aunt  Lize,  Twiddie,  and  Uncle  Shim 
filed  into  my  room,  each  with  a  tin  tray  of  pies  — 
the  whole  tribe.  They  were  set  out  in  noble  array 
on  the  bench  that  I  might  see,  smell,  admire,  but  not 
taste !  Oh,  no,  not  so  much  as  a  bite  till  the  day, 
Twiddie  said.  And  when  that  day  came,  we  surveyed 
our  work  with  satisfaction.  I  say  "  we  "  because  I 
had  been  pressed  into  service  and  furnished  my  quota 
of  muscle  in  beating,  stirring,  and  chopping.  At 
eleven  o'clock  the  turkey,  a  noble  bird  of  twenty 
pounds,  outdid  himself  by  bursting  the  trussing  and 
disgorging  the  dressing.  While  Aunt  Lize  was  kneel 
ing  with  flushed  face  before  the  oven-shrine  repair 
ing  the  damage,  and  Twiddie  with  scarlet  cheeks  was 
burning  her  nose  in  the  steam  in  her  efforts  to  help, 
Philip  Vanever  drove  up  from  Alderbury;  he  had 
come  on  the  night  train. 

It  was  a  glad  day !  and  Philip  Vanever's  joy  in  it 


The  Love  of  Man  251 

all  a  thing  to  remember.  The  old  kitchen  was  redo 
lent  of  every  kind  of  New  England  cheer,  from  tur 
key  and  turnovers  to  cider  and  celery,  and,  thanks 
to  our  guest's  thoughtfulness,  had  blossomed  into 
summer  fragrance  with  the  flowers  he  had  brought 
up  for  Aunt  Lize  and  Twiddie  —  roses,  violets,  carna 
tions.  Twiddle's  face  was  a  study  when  she  opened 
the  box  and  leaned  to  inhale  their  fragrance.  And 
after  the  table  had  been  cleared  and  the  dishes 
washed,  Twiddie  changed  her  gown,  and  came  down 
in  the  white  serge  Madeline  Cope  had  sent  her  the 
year  before,  and  the  dark  crimson  velvet  girdle  that 
came  with  it.  She  took  two  roses  of  that  same  rich 
color  —  Jacqueminots,  Philip  called  them — and  fas 
tened  them  in  her  girdle,  and  the  stem  of  another 
she  tucked  into  the  waves  of  her  bronze  brown  hair; 
and  then,  looking  at  us  who  were  looking  at  her,  she 
said  happily  :  "  Do  I  suit  now?  " 

We  three  men  were  dumb,  and  could  do  naught 
but  look  and  try  to  drink  our  fill  of  such  beauty;  but 
Aunt  Lize,  seeing  our  admiration,  snapped  suddenly : 

"  Harnsome  is  thet  harnsome  does  ;  remember  thet, 
Twiddie  Lewis ! "  At  which  we  all  laughed  but 
Twiddie,  who,  slipping  behind  Aunt  Lize's  chair  and 
leaning  over  the  back,  clasped  her  two  arms  about 
her  neck,  saying:  "  How  dare  you  quote  that,  Aunt 
Lize,  in  the  face  of  the  pound-cake  I  made  for  to 
night's  tea?  "  And  after  that  tea,  which  we  had  late, 
they  all  came  into  my  room,  and  while  we  three  men 
smoked,  Aunt  Lize,  to  please  Vanever,  sat  in  the 
chimney-corner  and  spun  by  the  firelight,  and  Twid 
die,  on  the  rug,  minded  the  chestnuts  she  was  roasting, 


252      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

and  her  forehead  into  the  bargain.  Our  talk  ranged 
from  the  new  inn  at  Farnsfield,  which  some  New 
York  men  were  financiering,  and  the  late  rumors 
of  a  prospective  railroad  in  the  Valley  of  the  White 
Branch,  to  the  wanton  destruction  of  the  forests  to 
feed  the  pulp  mills,  and  the  new  game  laws.  It  was 
good  to  be  together,  — but  I  caught  myself  wonder 
ing  if  Philip  Vanever  had  spoken.  At  bedtime  Uncle 
Shim  opened  the  east  door  to  look  out,  and  a  dash 
of  snow  whirled  into  the  room. 

"  Thet  '11  give  us  good  sleighin'  by  ter-morrer,"  he 
said.  "  Ye  'd  better  take  Prince  V  exercise  him  er 
leetle." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to,  Mr.  Lewis,  if  one  of  you  will 
go  with  me  ;  I  'm  poor  company  for  myself." 

Oh,  that  to-morrow !  It  broke  clear  and  shining 
on  a  mountain-world  mantled  in  white.  After  break 
fast  I  heard  Twiddie  in  the  kitchen,  teasing  him  to 
stay  over  one  more  night  —  just  one;  but  he  would 
not  give  his  word. 

"  By  the  way,  Twiddie,  you  promised  to  show  me 
the  made-over  room ;  I  want  to  contribute  my  mite 
towards  it.  What  do  you  say  to  a  rug,  white  ground 
and  all  rose-buds  to  match  the  curtains?" 

Twiddie  clapped  her  hands.  "  Oh,  that  will  be 
lovely !  The  floor  is  the  one  thing  that  has  dis 
tressed  me.  Come  up  and  I  '11  show  you." 

Perhaps  ten  minutes  had  passed,  and  I  was  wishing 
that  I,  too,  might  see  the  pretty  room,  when  I  heard 
Vanever's  voice  in  the  kitchen  asking  Uncle  Shim, 
who  had  just  come  in,  if  it  would  be  convenient  for 
him  to  take  Prince  for  a  few  hours.  I  heard  Uncle 


The  Love  of  Man  253 

Shim  assure  him  that  he  would  hitch  up  at  once; 
after  that,  Vanever  came  into  my  room,  closing  the 
door  behind  him. 

"  What  is  it,  Philip?"  I  cried  when  I  saw  him,  for 
over  his  face  had  crept  that  strange  ash-gray  wave 
leaving  every  feature  rigid,  drawn.  He  dropped  into 
Aunt  Lize's  rocking-chair  and  leaned  forward,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  his  head  bowed  into  his  hands. 

"  I  Ve  had  a  blow,  Hugh,  —  I  've  had  a  blow  — 
he  groaned  rather  than  spoke.     "Don't  ask  me  now; 
I  shall  be  back  this  afternoon." 

I  knew  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  —  I  could  not 
feel  my  way  in  such  dark ;  so  waited  until  I  heard 
Uncle  Shim  drive  round  the  house.  Vanever  reached 
for  his  overcoat  on  a  peg  by  the  east  door,  and  went 
out,  seeming  half-dazed,  as  if  the  blow  had  stunned 
him. 

It  was  five  o'clock  and  dark  before  he  drove  into 
the  yard.  My  eardrums  had  been  strained  to  burst 
ing  for  the  last  two  hours,  and  I  heard  the  "  tankle  " 
of  the  old  cow-bell  away  down  the  road  towards 
'Lympus-Gilead.  When  he  went,  he  drove  up  the 
other  way  through  the  clearing.  He  came  in  at  the 
east  door  with  a  quick,  firm  tread,  and,  throwing  off 
his  coat,  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  fireplace  and  spread 
his  hands  to  the  blaze.  I  saw  that  he  had  had  time 
to  pull  himself  together,  that  he  was  himself  again. 
But  I  was  n't  prepared  for  the  tone  in  which  he  spoke 
even  the  commonplaces.  It  sounded  as  if  a  sup 
pressed  joy,  an  exultant  triumph,  were  the  basal-note 
of  every  word. 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  back,  as  I   planned,  on  the 


254      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

night  train,  and  leave  here  a  little  earlier  than  I  in 
tended  —  about  six." 

"  You  will  want  Uncle  Shim  to  drive  you  down, 
won't  you?  The  team  you  ordered  from  Farnsficld 
will  be  too  late." 

"Oh,  no;  Prince  must  not  be  imposed  upon  to 
that  extent.  I  '11  just  take  my  grip  and  walk  down, 
even  as  far  as  Scawsville  if  necessary ;  but  I  know  I 
shall  meet  it  a  good  bit  this  side." 

I  began  to  protest,  but  he  cut  me  short.  "  This 
has  been  in  truth  a  '  Thanksgiving,'  Hugh.  I  wish  I 
might  make  some  thank-offering  other  than  a  grate 
ful  heart.  Supposing  we  ask  Mr.  Lewis  in  and  talk 
over  some  little  plan  for  Twiddle,  for  her  pleasure, 
her  improvement,  if  you  will,  although  I  see  little 
chance  to  improve  her.  You  may  well  be  proud  of 
your  pupil,  Hugh." 

"  I  am ;  but  how  will  you  broach  this  to  Uncle 
Shim?" 

"  Leave  that  to  me ;  I  know  my  ground  now,"  he 
said  with  such  a  sure  emphasis,  such  a  flash  of  his 
dark  eye  upon  me,  that  it  staggered  me  for  a  min 
ute.  In  a  curious  way  I  had  a  sudden  vision  of  the 
truth,  only  in  eclipse.  Before  I  could  answer,  Uncle 
Shim  came  in  at  the  east  door. 

"  Ye  'd  better  wait  t'll  arter  supper,  'n'  let  me  take 
ye  down  ez  fur  ez  Scawsville,"  he  said  with  his  back 
to  the  fire. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Lewis,  but  I  prefer  to  walk; 
besides,  I  am  already  under  too  many  obligations  to 
you  for  the  use  of  Prince  for  so  many  hours." 

"  I  take  it  ye  druv  quite  er  piece,  seein'  ye  went 


The  Love  of  Man  255 

Farnsfield  way  'n'  come  back  'Lympus-Gilead  road." 
I  could  see  that  Uncle  Shim  was  over-full  of  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  long  way  around,  but  I  wanted  to 
head  off  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle  '  over  the  Mountain.' " 

"  Did  ye  ketch  him?"  asked  Uncle  Shim,  eagerly. 

"  Yes ;  but,  Mr.  Lewis,  before  I  go  I  want  to  talk 
about  something  of  great  interest  to  me  and,  I  think 
I  may  say,  to  Hugh.  I  've  been  the  recipient  of  so 
many  favors  here  from  you  all,  that  I  must  refuse  to 
be  under  greater  obligation,  unless  you  will  allow  me 
in  some  way  to  make  a  return." 

"  Wai?  "  It  was  not  an  encouraging  sound.  Uncle 
Shim  straightened  himself  in  a  curiously  defiant  fash 
ion,  and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  back.  He 
stood  facing  me  and  Vanever,  his  old  felt  hat  set 
well  off  his  forehead  ;  his  old  overcoat  of  nondescript 
color,  faded,  bleached,  sunburned,  patched,  hung 
loosely  from  his  shoulders. 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Mr.  Lewis,  as  Twid 
dle's  guardian — •"  I  saw  Uncle  Shim  start,  and  his 
light  blue  eyes  suddenly  open  wide  under  his  bushy 
brows  —  "  that  possibly  it  might  be  well  for  Twiddie 
to  have  an  opportunity  to  see  something  more  of  life 
than  she  can  on  this  mountain-top,  beautiful  as  this 
is?  She  is  gifted  beyond  most  girls  of  her  age,  and 
—  and  — "  Even  Philip  Vanever  hesitated  in  the 
face  of  the  uncompromising,  wide-open  stare  with 
which  Uncle  Shim  was  regarding  him. 

"  I  guess  I  can  git  the  gist  of  what  yer  tryin'  ter 
say  'thout  many  more  words,"  he  said  in  his  deliber 
ate,  drawling  speech.  "  I  s'pose  ye  mean  ye  want 
ter  marry  her,  'n'  air  axin'  my  leave  — " 


256       The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

"  God  forbid !  "  exclaimed  Vanever,  interrupting 
him  with  such  a  look  of  horror  that  Uncle  Shim's 
face  turned  white,  then  worked  strangely. 

"  What  ye  ben  comin'  here  fer,  I  'd  like  ter  know, 
ef  'twarn't  fer  her?  "  Vanever  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
had  been  caught  in  a  trap. 

"  Uncle  Shim,"  I  said,  and  I  was  so  mad  my  voice 
trembled,  "  this  is  my  house,  and  you  can't  speak 
that  way  to  any  guest  of  mine.  If  you  '11  hear  Mr. 
Vanever  out,  you  '11  be  well  ashamed  of  yourself  for 
this." 

"  I  will,  will  I  ?  "  He  laughed  with  a  strange  shake 
in  his  throat;  "I  didn't  know  ez  ye 'd  j'ined  the 
majority.  I  know  the  house  is  yourn,  'n'  the  land  is 
yourn,  'n'  yer  aunt  is  yourn,  'n'  yer  friend  is  yourn, 
but  Twiddle's  mine — mark  thet,  both  on  ye,  'n'  yer 
Aunt  Lize,  too ;  'n'  ef  wust  comes  ter  wust,  Twiddie 
'n'  me  '11  take  the  outside  er  the  house,  'n'  yer  Aunt 
Lize  'n'  yew  can  keep  the  in.  I  Ve  seen  the  hull 
thing  —  "I  saw  he  was  working  himself  into  a  pas 
sion,  and  that  the  passion,  because  of  the  extreme 
rarity  of  its  occurrence,  was  affecting  him  physically. 
I  tried  to  stop  him. 

"  Uncle  Shim,  you  don't  know  what  you  're  talking 
about ;  we  won't  say  any  more  to-night;  I  can  easily 
explain  to  you  afterwards,  when  you  are  calmed 
down." 

"  Calmed  down !  Jest  talk  thet  ter  some  other 
man ;  ye  '11  hear  honest  Injun  from  me,  I  can  tell  ye, 
calmed  down  or  calmed  up.  I  tell  ye  both  now,  I 
ain't  er-goin'  ter  hev  no  city  chaps  hangin'  round 
my  leetle  gal.  She 's  good  'n'  true  'n'  sweet ;  'n' 


The  Love  of  Man  257 

ruther  'n  hev  her  go  down  inter  thet  hog-pen  er  rottin' 
human  —  " 

"  Uncle  Shim  !  "  I  thundered,  "  stop,  or  I'll  —  " 

"  Yew  shet  up,  'n'  let  me  say  my  say,  then  I  '11  go ;  " 
he  took  a  step  half-threateningly  towards  the  cot. 
"I  say,"-  — he  raised  his  voice,  but  his  words  were 
just  as  deliberately  spoken,  —  "I'd  ruther  lay  her 
in  her  coffin  'n'  screw  down  the  lid,  tight.  Ye  can't 
tech  her," —  he  faced  Vanever,  who  had  stood  im 
movable  since  he  last  spoke,  —  "  nor  thet  other  feller 
thet 's  tryin'  ter  hang  round  her.  I  see  her  goin'  fer 
the  mail,  furrin  stamps  'n'  all,  'n'  he  eatin'  'n'  drinkin' 
'n'  talkin'  her  the  las'  time  he  wuz  here,  V  /  won't 
hev  it!"  He  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  corner  of 
the  mantel  with  such  force  it  was  a  wonder  it  did  not 
break  the  bone.  "She's  my  own  flesh  'n'  blood  — 
mine,  d'  ye  hear?  —  'n'  her  mother  wuz  my  — 

Something  passed  between  those  two  facing  each 
other  with  their  nostrils  white  and  jaws  set.  Vanever 
told  me  afterwards  he  had  not  intended  to  speak, 
knowing  it  was  no  time ;  but  that  suddenly  an  ele 
mental  surcharge  of  feeling  mastered  him,  and  he 
lost  control. 

"  More  my  flesh  and  blood  than  yours,"  he  said  in 
measured  tones,  but  with  exulting  conviction  ringing 
through  them,  "for  I  am  her  father." 

It  was  said,  and  my  first  thought  was  that  he  was 
free  for  Madeline  Cope ;  the  next  was  for  the  two 
men  —  I  feared  for  both. 

For  a  minute  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room ; 
even  the  fire  did  not  crackle.  Outside  in  the  kitchen, 
Twiddle  was  singing  while  she  was  setting  the  table  — 


258      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

that  old  verse  of  Watts's.  I  looked  at  Uncle  Shim. 
His  jaw  had  dropped,  his  face  grown  a  sickly  yellow. 
Then  I  heard  an  oath.  Such  an  oath  I  dare  not 
blacken  this  page  with  writing  it  down.  He  stag 
gered  to  the  door,  and  Vanever  sprang  to  put  his 
arm  beneath  his ;  but  Uncle  Shim  threw  it  off,  and 
went  out  into  the  night. 

"  My  God  !  What  have  I  done,  Hugh?  Shall  I  go 
after  him?"  Vanever  turned  to  me  in  such  distress 
that  I  knew  I  must  be  calm  for  both.  I  got  hold  of 
his  hand. 

"  Philip,"  I  said,  "  '  the  ways  of  God  —  the  ways  of 
God';  remember  that;  it  will  come  right;  believe 
me,  and  leave  him  to  me.  Call  Twiddle." 

He  opened  the  door  into  the  kitchen;  how  her 
sweet  voice  rang  out: 

"  '  Change  me,  O  God  !  my  flesh  shall  be 
An  instrument  of  song  to  thee, 
And  thou  the  notes  inspire. ' " 

"  Twiddie,  Hugh  wants  you." 

"I'll  come,  Hugh, — just  a  minute." 

"Twiddie,"  I  said,  speaking  quietly,  "I  don't  think 
Uncle  Shim  is  feeling  very  well  —  he  went  out  of  the 
east  door  just  now;  I  think  he  has  gone  to  the  barn. 
Just  put  on  a  shawl  over  you  and  run  after  him  and 
bring  him  in."  She  had  flung  on  my  plaid  and  was 
off  almost  before  I  had  finished. 

"  Hugh,  I  Ve  done  wrong  —  managed  badly,  and  it 
is  better  for  us  all  that  I  should  go  now,  without  delay. 
Tell  Twiddie  and  Mrs.  Lewis ;  I  will  write  you  all,  — 
and  give  the  letter  to  Mr.  Lewis — ' 


The  Love  of  Man  259 

"But,  Philip,  where  are  you  going?" 

"  Home  on  the  night  train  as  I  had  planned,  Hugh, 
and  then"  —he  paused,  drew  a  long  breath  —  "to 
Madeline;  for  I  am  free,  Hugh,  FREE!" 

I  saw  then  that  his  first  thought  was  not  for  his 
child. 

"  I  will  write  to-morrow ;  be  on  the  lookout  for  it 
and  keep  me  informed  of  everything,  will  you?"  He 
was  putting  on  his  overcoat. 

"  I  will." 

"  God  bless  you,  Hugh."     He  was  gone. 


VI 
THE   GIFT   OF   GOD 


VI 

THE   GIFT  OF   GOD 

ON  that  Saturday  following  Vanever's  return, 
there  was  an  unnatural  calm  within  the 
house.  It  was  as  if  a  cyclone  were  sweep 
ing  the  Mountain  and  we  were  in  the  storm  centre. 
But  on  the  Sabbath  there  was  a  change,  a  lessening 
of  the  tension,  and  the  quiet  of  Nature  and  the  peace 
of  the  Spirit  brooded  my  soul  like  a  great  beneficent 
Hand. 

About  eight  o'clock  I  saw  a  flock  of  snow-buntings 
whirl,  like  dark,  driven  leaves,  in  a  snow-flurry  before 
my  window.  Fifteen  minutes  afterwards  came  a  mar 
vellous  sunburst.  The  sky  suddenly  freed  itself  from 
the  gray  and  white  clouds,  rolling  them  back  like  a 
scroll  to  the  south-east,  and  afterwards  there  was  one 
clear  blue,  a  dazzling  sun,  and  the  immaculate  white 
of  mountain-snows. 

I  re-read  what,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  I  call  my 
Mountain-Litany  —  jottings  by  the  way:  marks,  by 
which  I  may  keep  in  mind  the  trail  I  have  followed 
through  the  wilderness  of  doubt  into  the  sunny  open 
of  faith. 

My  Mountain-Litany. 

-  I  spoiled  a  piece  of  work  to-day,  because  I  failed 
to  see  that  to  bring  out  a  certain  effect  I  must  needs 


264      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

cut  with  the  grain  of  the  wood.  Must  not  Life  run 
so,  —  along  the  line  of  one's  grain,  if  one  is  to  work 
according  to  a  natural  law? 

Twiddie  brought  me  a  mullein-leaf  covered  with 
hoar-frost.  What  a  marvel  of  texture,  bediamonded  ! 
Every  tiny  globule  shows  in  the  sunshine  the  chord 
of  the  seven  colors. 

What  a  pleasure  it  must  be  for  Some  One  to  create 
this!      If  I  take  such  delight  in  creating,  in  material 
izing  the  idea,  which  is  the  essence  of  the  tangible 
—  what,  primarily,  must  the  creating  of  this  mullein 
afford  —  and  to  Whom  ? 

Some  stalks  of  the  bee-balm  stand  in  my  pitcher  on 
the  bench.  What  an  imagination  it  must  have  re 
quired  to  originate  the  factors  of  this  !  —  a  composite 
of  trumpet,  chalice,  cardinal's  hat,  that  "  scarlet 
thread  "  of  the  Bible,  and  blood-stained  leaf;  shape, 
color,  symbolism,  and  fragrance,  —  frankincense  and 
myrrh,  —  all  there. 

I  used  to  like  to  see  Orion  wheel  to  his  setting ; 
about  April,  the  belt,  like  a  huge  arrow,  transfixed 
the  western  hills.  "  The  firmament  showeth  his  handi 
work."  That  truth  has  been  distilled  into  my  soul- 
consciousness  hour  by  hour  during  the  night-watches 
in  the  Pen. 

"  His  handiwork  "  —  my  handiwork  ;  —  and  between 
the  two,  the  vibration  of  some  wonderful  accord  which 
unites  the  choiring  of  the  spheres  and  the  note  of  the 
song-sparrow  in  the  lilac-hedge;  some  bond  of  inti 
mate  union  in  which  is  interwoven  the  elemental  forces, 


The  Gift  of  God  265 

whether  of  gravitation,  or  the  power  of  the  mounting 
sap  that  in  the  end  gives  me  the  fibre  of  the  wood. 

The  forest  is  yielding  me  its  secrets  in  this  intimacy 
with  the  wood  and  the  designs.  And  the  secret  of 
the  forest  lies  deep,  deep  in  the  subsoil — deeper 
still  in  the  elemental  world  of  a  mountain's  heart. 

That  is  a  curious  matter  to  ponder !  —  Elemental 
strength  of  all  kinds  at  work  for  aeons  upon  shift 
ing  sands  and  deposits  of  detritus ;  fire  and  water 
doing  their  utmost;  hearts  of  mountains  incandes 
cent;  quiescence  of  strata  for  untold  ages,  —  then 
Upheaval,  and  our  geologist  on  the  mountain-top  may 
ring  his  hammer  on  the  earliest  formation  ! 

Such,  I  take  it,  is  the  process  of  Humanity  strati 
fied  into  Society.  A  great  truth  there. 

Even  the  "  dung-heap  "  has  its  secret.  I  heard  the 
hens  churring  about  it  this  morning  while  Uncle  Shim 
was  forking  it  over  preparatory  to  drawing  two  loads 
up  to  the  corn-patch.  To-morrow  he  will  plough  it 
under,  and  in  five  months  the  corn  will  be  ground  and 
Aunt  Lize's  Johnny-cakes  steam  golden-brown  on  the 
breakfast-table.  So  are  we  all  indissolubly  linked 
with  the  earth-elements  —  the  nourishing  and  the 
nourished ;  and  the  one  returns  to  the  other,  and  the 
other  yields  its  return.  What  a  harmony  of  provi 
sion  !  —  and  thereby  the  sustenance  of  the  Spirit 
during  its  short  earth-pilgrimage.  Ay,  ay  —  "  see 
deep  enough  and  we  see  musically." 

The  Soul  of  Man  is  a  pilgrim  with  the  scrip  of  the 
body  filled  for  his  sustenance  during  the  earth-tarry- 


266      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

ing.  On  his  long  journeying,  he  entereth  into  the 
Temple  of  Human-Life-on-this-Earth  through  the 
portals  of  Human  Birth,  and  tarrieth  for  a  while  in 
crypt  or  cloister,  in  nave  or  chapel,  in  choir  or 
chancel  —  marvelling,  praying,  begging,  sinning,  re 
penting,  loving,  worshipping,  praising,  delving,  inves 
tigating;  then  passeth  onwards,  out  through  the 
portals  of  Human  Death,  —  still  marvelling  ! 

A  flower  in  its  perfection :  the  expression  not 
only  of  the  Divine  Imagination,  but  of  the  utility  of 
economics  —  grace  springing  from  satisfied  needs. 
Should  it  not  be  so  with  our  lives? 

There  are  so  many  avenues  of  approach  to  God  for 
the  wandering  soul !  Even  a  spiritual  cul-de-sac  may 
prove  eventually  a  straight,  if  narrow,  path. 

My  approaches  have  been  through  work,  the  friend 
ship  of  a  man,  the  love  of  a  woman;  yes,  and  the 
open  fire,  the  stars  in  the  night-watches,  the  minis 
trations  of  Aunt  Lize,  and  Twiddle's  sunny  presence, 
have  been  lights  unto  my  devious  paths. 

This,  I  believe,  rounds  to  as  much  perfection  of 
happiness  as  may  fall  to  my  lot  as  a  man. 

There  has  been  a  fearful  tempest,  —  the  thunder 
crashing  ceaselessly,  with  a  snarling,  splittering  sound  ; 
the  lightning  playing  incessantly  through  the  cloud 
that  enshrouded  the  Mountain.  There  has  been 
havoc  in  the  forest. 

It  swooped  down  upon  us  with  a  great  wind,  blot 
ting  out  the  sun,  sky,  everything  beyond  the  spruce- 
bush  ;  and  it  cleared  almost  as  suddenly.  The  sun 


The  Gift  of  God  267 

broke  through  the  huddling,  scurrying  cloud-masses ; 
there  was  a  glimpse  of  intense  blue,  a  sudden  clear 
ing  of  a  sapphire  circle  in  the  zenith,  then  the  last  re 
verberation  of  the  thunder,  and  a  sparkle  and  glitter 
and  dazzle  of  flashing  reds  and  greens  among  the 
myriad  drops  caught  on  grass-blade,  bush,  and  tree. 
The  silence  was  broken  by  the  thin  bleat  of  a  lamb  ; 
then  a  song-sparrow  sang  its  Te  Deum. 

Again  and  again  I  have  put  off  the  carving  of  the 
Fate's  head  from  the  seasoned  black  birch.  The 
desire  has  grown  less  and  less  to  materialize  my  con 
ception  of  it;  —  Life  is  showing  me  another  face. 

Uncle  Shim  got  me  out  a  plank  last  fall,  and  one 
day  I  went  to  work  to  carve,  not  the  Fate's  head,  but 
a  crucifix  for  Toughheel.  I  had  Hansl's  for  a  model ; 
but  something  not  in  the  face  of  his  Christ  got  carved 
into  mine,  and  made  me  loath  to  part  with  it,  —  "a 
man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief."  It  was 
loving,  worshipping  work,  and  did  me  good. 

When  I  gave  it  to  Toughheel  for  Christmas,  the 
fellow's  face  was  a  study. 

I  tried; — but  I  could  not  think  it  out,  could  not 
reason  it  out,  could  not  discover  it,  search  as  I  might; 
but,  lying  with  open  eyes,  open  heart,  open  mind,  re 
ceptive  soul  —  it  was  revealed  to  me  that  God  is,  and 
there  is  naught  old,  and  there  is  naught  new,  and  faith 
remains  the  compass  for  the  Soul. 

What  a  revelation !  —  here  on  my  Mountain- 
Patmos.  — 

I  was  interrupted  in  my  reading  by  Uncle  Shim. 


268      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

It  was  near  sunset,  and  in  the  waning  light  his  face 
looked  old  and  haggard^  He  closed  the  door  into 
the  kitchen  and  sat  down,  brokenly,  in  Aunt  Lize's 
rocker.  I  had  been  expecting  him  all  day,  and  had 
the  pipes  ready  filled. 

"Draw  up  your  chair  to  the  fire,  Uncle  Shim,  and 
we  '11  light  up,"  I  said,  hoping  to  cheer  him.  It  cut 
me  to  see  his  dejection. 

"No,  Hughie,  I  don't  want  no  pipe;  I  hain't  slep' 
any  fer  two  nights,  V  Lize  hez  got  scairt  'coz  I  hain't 
eat  nothin',  'n'  won't  say  grace." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Shim,  it  is  n't  so  bad  as  all  that.  Let 's 
talk  the  whole  thing  out,  and  you  '11  feel  better;  I  'm 
sure  I  shall."  He  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Ye  ain't  got  it  on  yer  conscience,  Hughie; — I 
would  n't  Lize  should  know  on  't  fer  my  soul's  eternal 
salvation.  She'd  git  er  bill  er  divorce  quicker 'n 
lightnin'  ef  she  'd  heerd  it." 

"  Heard  what,  Uncle  Shim?  I  think  I  'm  not  sure 
just  what  you  mean  —  about  the  relationship  between 
Twiddle  and  Mr.  Vanever?  " 

"  Lord,  no,  Hughie!  't  ain't  thet ;  she'll  be  tickled 
ter  death  ter  know  thet.  She  's  hed  her  idees  'bout 
what  Twiddie  ought  ter  be  —  mighty  up-in-the-world 
ones  they  be,  tew —  " 

"  Well,  what  is  it  then  ?  "  I  began  to  feel  impa 
tient  ;  like  Aunt  Lize,  I  feared  "  long-windedness." 

"  Hughie,"  he  turned  to  me  with  such  a  stricken 
look  in  his  sagging  jaw  that  I  felt  troubled.  "  I  've 
damned  er  man  !  I  Ve  damned  him  in  this  world  and 
the  next.  I  Ve  damned  my  feller-man,  Hughie,  'n' 
how  be  I  cr-goin'  ter  make  my  peace  with  my  God  ?  " 


The  Gift  of  God  269 

Poor  Uncle  Shim !     How  he  had  suffered  ! 
"  Uncle  Shim,"  I  said,  "you  were  in  a  tight  place 
and   hard  put.     It  came  too  sudden ;  Vanever  said 
that  to  me  before  he  went  —  "     He  interrupted  me. 

"  No,  't  warn't  so  sudden  ez  ye  think,  Hughie.  I  've 
allus  felt  thet  Twiddie  warn't  the  common  kind,  'n' 
thet  she  might  turn  out  ter  be  er  millionaire's  child ; 
she  ain't  er  mite  like  her  mother,  but,  Hughie,  blood  's 
thicker  'n  water,  even  ef  't  ain't  only  half  'n'  half;  'n' 
ef  she  warn't  only  my  half-sister  — 

"  Your  half-sister  !  How  is  that,  Uncle  Shim?  I 
never  knew  that  before." 

"  I  know  ye  hain't.  I  hain't  said  nothin'  'bout 
it.  Shet  mouth  'n'  live  it  down,  is  my  motto  every 
time.  Yes,  she  wuz  half-sister  ter  me,  'n'  fifteen  year 
younger.  I  could  n't  tell  ye,  nor  nobody  else,  what 
got  inter  mother  ter  git  bewitched,  arter  she  'd  ben 
widdered  fourteen  year,  with  er  low-down,  rum-'n'- 
water  land-shark  thet  come  perspectin'  up  in  the  north 
part  er  the  state.  Anyhow,  she  married  him,  'n'  er 
year  arterwards,  Marier  come  erlong,  'n'  the  man 
dusted.  Mother  got  her  bill,  'n'  kep'  father's  name, 
'n'  I  worked  out  my  freedom  keerin'  fer  her  'n'  the 
baby." 

"  What  was  her  name?  " 

"Rasle;  Marier  Elviry  Rasle ;  but  mother  wuz  cut 
up  so  bad  with  the  disgrace,  thet  she  never  called  her 
nothin'  but  Marier  Lewis,  'n'  I  don't  know  ez  ther  's 
more  'n  two-three  livin'  souls  thet  know  her  real  name. 
She  went  agin  her  mother,  jest  ez  soon  ez  I  'd  left  'n' 
come  over  here  ter  farm  it  with  yer  grandfather,  'n' 
when  she  wuz  eighteen,  she  went  off  down  country 


270      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

ter  earn  her  livin'.  Thet 's  the  last  I  heerd  from  her 
t'll  I  got  word  ter  come  down  ter  Old  Town  Gilead  ; 
'n'  thar  I  found  her  with  the  child.  She  said  she  'd 
ben  deserted,  'n'  hed  come  up  here  ter  die  some- 
whars  near  me;  mother 'd  died  long  before  thet.  It 
teched  me  arter  all  in  er  tender  spot,  'n'  the  leetle  gal 
come  ter  me,  'n'  put  her  leetle  arms  round  my  neck, 
'n'  Lize  'n'  I  hed  n't  any  —  ' 

I  heard  a  gulp,  and  looked  out  of  the  window  not 
to  see  his  emotion  and  to  hide  mine. 

"  'N'  she  seemed  so  kinder  erlone  in  the  world,  'n' 
I  knew  the  man  thet  hed  fathered  her  hed  left  the 
poor,  innercent  leetle  soul  ter  shift  fer  herself,  fer 
Marier  hed  one  foot  in  the  grave  when  she  sent  fer 
me;  'n'  I  took  'n  awful  grudge,  Hughie,  agin  thet 
man.  It 's  ben  ranklin'  'n'  eatin'  in,  jest  like  gangrene, 
inter  my  life,  'n'  when  he  stood  thar  before  me  so 
kinder  sudden  'n'  proud-like,  knowin'  nothin'  'bout 
trials  'n'  privations,  'n'  Life  sech  ez  ivc  know  it, 
Hughie,  the  venom  riz  right  up  under  my  tongue, 
'n'  I  spit  it  all  out  —  all  the  gatherin'  fer  eighteen 
year — onter  him  in  thet  one  oath;  'n'  I  hain't  hed 
er  minute's  peace  sence." 

"  Uncle  Shim,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  tell  you  all 
I  know  about  it,  and  by  to-morrovv  there  '11  be  a  letter 
explaining  what  none  of  us  can  understand." 

"Go  ahead,  Hughie;  I  guess  I  dew  feel  er  leetle 
mite  eased  fer  speakin'." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Shim,  and  I  believe  you  are  going  to 
feel  eased  for  the  rest  of  your  life  because  you  have 
spit  out  all  the  venom  that  is  in  you  in  that  one  oath." 


The  Gift  of  God  271 

"D'ye  think  so,  Hughie?"  He  looked  up  wist 
fully,  but  I  could  see  his  face  had  brightened  a  little. 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it;  but  before  I  tell  you  what  I  know, 
I  want  to  ask  a  question  or  two." 

"All  right,  Hughie."  He  settled  himself  in  the 
chair  and  stretched  his  legs.  I  saw  in  the  movement 
an  expression  of  the  relief  he  was  experiencing. 

"  You  remember  you  did  n't  say  grace  for  nearly 
two  years  —  not  so  very  long  ago?  " 

"  I  'member,  Hughie." 

"  And  that  you  did  n't  feel  like  saying  it  because 
you  could  hear  me  cursing  and  blaspheming  in  the 
little  bedroom?" 

"  Ye  're  tellin'  it  jest  ez  't  wuz ;  —  it  went  agin  me 
ter  mix  words  er  grace  'n'  words  er  damnation  in  the 
same  minute  'fore  the  Lord." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Shim,  you  cursed  your  fellow-man 
once,  —  a  fearful  curse,  I  must  own,  —  but  I  not 
only  cursed  the  creature,  but  the  Creator,  and  that, 
not  once,  but  a  thousand  times  in  the  course  of 
those  nineteen  months ;  and  if  I  can  say  I  know  I 
am  forgiven,  don't  you  think  you  '11  find  forgiveness 
too?" 

He  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  slowly  across  his 
eyes.  "  Ye  'd  oughter  ben  er  preacher,  Hughie ;  I 
never  thought  nothin'  'bout  yer  doin'  it.  It  only 
seemed  kinder  nat'ral  fer  anybody  thet  hed  ben  under 
sech  discipline  ez  yourn  —  " 

"  And  it  seemed  just  as  natural  to  me  that  you 
should  utter  that  oath  with  the  provocation  you  had. 
We  're  both  men,  and  pretty  human  ones,  too,  Uncle 
Shim  —  " 


272      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"  Thet  's  so,  Hughie,"  he  broke  in  eagerly,  coming 
over  to  the  cot,  "  we  're  er  durned  selfish  lot,  the  hull 
on  us,  'n'  I  hain't  no  right  ter  fling  stones.  I  've  tried 
Lize  most  ter  death,  'n'  'mounted  to  nothin'."  He 
grasped  the  hand  I  held  out  to  him,  and  the  slow 
tears  coursed  down  his  furrowed,  unshaven  cheeks. 

"  Just  get  me  a  coal  to  light  my  pipe,  will  you, 
Uncle  Shim?  I  want  a  smoke  to  ease  me  up  a 
bit" 

"Jest  what  I  wuz  wantin'  myself.  I  can  kinder 
think  things  out  clearer  when  I  'm  drorrin'  'n'  puffin' 
fer  all  I  'm  wuth,  'n'  seein'  things  outside  er  me  through 
er  blue  smudge."  He  lighted  his  pipe  and  took  his 
seat  in  the  rocker.  We  talked  till  late  in  the  evening, 
and  threshed  family  affairs  to  some  purpose. 

"  Tell  him,"  he  said,  when  he  rose  to  bid  me  good 
night,  "  not  ter  lay  it  up  agin  me  —  I  're  forgiven,  ez 
I  hope  ter  be  forgiven." 

I  told  Aunt  Lize  the  next  day,  and  when  the 
letter  came  I  read  it  and  handed  it  over  to  them  both. 
When  Aunt  Lize  gave  the  sheet  back  to  me,  I  saw  by 
her  face  that  Philip  Vanever  had  one  stout  ally  for 
time  and  for  eternity. 

But  —  after  all  was  said  —  there  was  Twiddie.  I 
held  the  letter,  when  Aunt  Lize  had  finished  reading 
it  to  Uncle  Shim,  long  in  my  hand,  and  pondered. 
Finally  I  asked  Aunt  Lize  to  tell  her;  but  she  put  up 
her  hands  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow.  "  I  can't,  Hughie  ; 
don't  ask  me  thet"  she  said. 

"Then,  Uncle  Shim,  you  must  —  you  are  her 
guardian." 

"  My  God  !   Hughie,  I  can't ;  don't  ask  me  —  it 's 


The  Gift  of  God  273 

like  turnin'  loose  er  whole  stream  er  mud  onter  her 
purty  white  life  —  " 

"  But,  Uncle  Shim,  she  must  be  told ;  she  is  of  age 
next  month,  and  you  would  have  no  right  to  keep  it 
from  her." 

"  T  ain't  thet,  Hughie ;  but  I  dassen't  say  sech 
things  ter  the  gal ;  let  —  let  her  father  do  it."  I  saw 
how  hard  it  was  for  him  to  speak  the  word  and  what 
a  victory  he  had  gained  over  himself. 

"It  wouldn't  be  wise;  she  couldn't  bear  it  from 
him  —  not  now." 

"  Hughie,"  said  Aunt  Lize,  speaking  abruptly,  "  it's 
borne  in  on  me  thet  ye  're  the  one  ter  tell  her ;  ye 
know  how  ter  put  things  better 'n  we  do,  'n'  she'll 
take  anything  from  yew.  Ye  've  alias  known  how  ter 
manage  her,  'n'  she  sets  er  sight  by  what  ye  think  on 
her;  — ye  've  got  ter  be  the  one.  Ef  't  wuz  on  the 
mother's  side,  I  'd  do  it  fast  'nough,  but  it 's  on  t'  other 
side,  'n'  it  b'longs  t'  er  man  ter  say  it." 

"  I  '11  do  it,  Aunt  Lize,  to  help  you  and  Uncle  Shim 
-you  have  been  so  good  to  your  boy  and  girl." 

"  Don't,  Hughie,  don't !  "  cried  Aunt  Lize,  and  flung 
out  of  the  room. 

But  how  to  tell  Twiddle  !  I  thought  and  thought, 
but  could  find  no  entering  wedge,  and  the  longer  I 
pondered  the  matter,  the  more  the  difficulties  multi 
plied.  I  said  to  myself:  "  To-morrow,  I  will  tell  her 
without  fail ;  "  but  on  the  morrow  she  came  back 
from  the  butternut  tree  with  a  letter  —  and  what  a 
letter !  —  from  Madeline  Cope,  and  the  reading  of 
that  gave  me,  as  I  thought,  the  end  of  the  string 
which  should  unravel  the  ball.  To  answer  that  letter 

18 


274      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

I  felt  to  be  my  first  duty.  It  shall  lie  here  between 
the  leaves,  for  it  has  shown  me  the  strength  and 
purity  of  a  true  woman's  first  love.  I  know  she  will 
let  me  keep  this  one,  despite  my  promise. 

HUGH,  DEAR  HUGH, 

Philip  has  come  from  you  to  me,  and  something 
tells  me  you  know  why  he  has  come,  at  last. 

What  are  we  women  good  for  but  just  loving  and 
forgiving,  for  comforting  and  supporting?  He  has 
told  me  all.  Oh,  Hugh,  it  has  needed  the  discipline 
of  all  these  years  to  show  me  how  to  be  humble  in 
accepting  such  love ;  and  he  thought  during  all  this 
time  that,  because  of  that  Past,  because  of  his  sin,  I 
could  not  love  him  !  Oh,  how  little  you  men  can 
know,  even  the  best  of  you,  of  a  true  woman's  heart! 
And  I,  too,  have  confessed  all  to  him.  I  have  told 
him  how  I  have  felt  all  these  years:  as  if  I  were  mar 
ried  to  him  in  soul  —  and  that  is  the  eternal  part,  say 
what  we  will.  It  is  that  which  holds  and  binds  in  this 
world  —  and  hereafter,  however  it  may  be.  Even  had 
he  married,  there  could  have  been  no  divorce  of  my 
soul  from  his. 

And  now  to  know  that  such  has  been  his  feeling 
for  me  !  To  know  we  may  live  our  life,  not  our  lives, 
together,  not  apart  any  more;  that  I  may  take  his 
dear  head  between  my  hands  and  comfort  and  love 
as  a  wife  loves  —  A  rain  of  tears  is  blotting  this  page  ; 
but  you  will  understand,  —  the  long  waiting  is  at 
an  end. 

And  Twiddie  —  dear  little  Twiddie,  my  Twiddie, 
because  his.  How  strange  all  this  is  !  Make  known 
to  her  in  your  own  way,  dear  Hugh,  what  she  is  to 
me,  how  I  feel  to  her  —  as  a  mother.  I  had  planned, 


The  Gift  of  God  275 

before  this  surcharge  of  happiness,  to  have  her  with 
me  during  February  and  March;  that  is,  if  I  could 
persuade  her  to  leave  you.  I  want  to  know  her  more 
intimately  in  my  own  home,  and  I  know  there  is  much 
young  pleasure  I  can  provide  for  her.  Moreover, 
Dick  is  looking  forward  to  her  coming,  and  planning 
to  run  over  often  while  she  is  here. 

Can't  this  be  made  a  surety,  now  that  the  tie  is  so 
close  ?  Let  me  know  after  you  tell  her  ;  let  me  know, 
too,  how  she  looks  upon  all  this  from  her  girl's  stand 
point —  I  long  to  help  her,  for  she  will  need  some 
help  sorely. 

I  am  writing  in  the  morning-room  with  the  beau 
tiful  panels  all  about  me  —  and  here  is  a  confession  : 
it  was  not  wholly,  nor  firstly,  because  I  wanted  a  work 
of  art  with  which  to  live,  that  I  ordered  these  panels 
from  you.  No,  Hugh,  it  was  because  Dick  told  me 
Philip  had  been  so  interested  in  your  work  and  in 
you,  that  I  —  that  I  —  oh,  how  despicable  this  must 
seem  to  you  !  —  wanted  to  know  you  because  he  knew 
you,  and  I  planned  the  trip  which  included  Olympus, 
because  He  had  been  there  before  me.  And,  after 
wards,  Hugh,  I  loved  you,  not  only  for  your  own  sake, 
but  because  I  knew,  through  Dick,  that  Philip  loved 
you  and  had  made  you  his  close  friend.  I  felt  nearer 
to  him  when  I  could  chat,  by  means  of  letters,  with 
you.  When  you,  too,  Hugh,  shall  find  the  scales 
fallen  from  your  eyes,  you  will  be  able  to  forgive  a 
woman  this  because  she  is  a  woman,  and  a  loving  one. 
You  remember  what  I  wrote  you?  —  the  time  will 
come  when  you  will  experience  the  difference;  till 
then,  think  as  kindly  of  me  as  you  can. 

Philip  told  me  of  those  words  of  yours  to  him  — 
"  The  ways  of  God  —  the  ways  of  God."  Indeed,  they 


276      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

are  "  past  finding  out,"  and  in  witness  thereof,  I  hum 
bly  and  lovingly  acknowledge  myself 

Your  affectionate  friend  and  debtor, 

MADELINE  COPE. 


I  had  written  the  answer  and  asked  Twiddie  to 
carry  it  down  to  meet  the  stage  at  noon.  She  was 
gone  unusually  long  —  three  hours;  and  when  she 
came  in,  I  noticed  she  went  directly  to  her  room, 
instead  of  coming,  as  was  her  wont,  to  me.  Nor  did 
she  show  herself  until  it  was  time  to  set  the  table  for 
supper.  When  she  brought  in  my  tray  I  asked  her: 

"  What  kept  you  so  long  to-day,  Twiddie?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  when  I  come  in  after  supper ;  I  want 
to  talk  with  you,  Hugh."  My  heart  gave  a  queer, 
frightened  thump  —  at  nothing,  so  it  seemed,  for  she 
spoke  as  usual,  but  earnestly. 

"  Shall  we  have  a  bout  at  chess  to-night?  " 

"Not  to-night,  Hugh;  I'll  bring  in  my  sewing; 
I  'in  a  little  tired." 

"  What  a  brute  I  have  been,"  I  thought,  as  I 
watched  her  brighten  the  fire  and  light  the  lamp, 
"  to  send  her  down  so  often  in  all  weathers  just  to 
carry  my  mail,  or  get  a  letter ;  —  and  what  has  it  all 
amounted  to?"  I  felt  down,  without  knowing  why. 
Madeline's  letter  had  radiated  such  intimate,  human 
love,  that  I  felt  its  warmth  only  to  realize  the  more 
the  chill  of  my  own  isolation.  Now  and  then  I  heard 
a  dash  of  sleet  against  the  south  windows,  and  I 
vowed  it  should  be  the  last  time  I  asked  Twiddie  to 
do  such  an  errand  for  me. 

After  the  dishes  were  finished,  she  came  in  with 


The  Gift  of  God  277 

her  sewing,  and  sat  in  Aunt  Lize's  rocking-chair  by 
the  bench  on  which  stood  the  lamp  with  its  yellow 
porcelain  shade  —  a  gift  of  Philip's.  I  felt  strangely 
oppressed. 

"Well,  Twiddie?" 

Her  head  was  bent  low  over  her  work,  and  I  could 
see  only  the  pure  profile.  "  Hugh,  do  you  remember 
the  teacher  that  stayed  with  us  over  Sunday  four  years 
ago?  —  the  one  with  the  eye-glasses?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  do ;  a  nice  girl  she  was  too. 
Where  is  she  now?" 

"  In  Boston ;  she  has  been  there  ever  since  she 
left  her  position  at  the  Academy  two  years  ago." 

"  What  is  she  doing  —  teaching?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  day-governess.  I  went  down  to 
Farnsfield  to-day  to  see  her  cousin,  who  has  come  as 
housekeeper  at  the  new  inn.  She  is  going  to  get 
things  in  readiness  during  the  winter  for  the  opening 
next  May." 

"  How  does  it  look  there,  —  greatly  changed?  " 

"You  wouldn't  know  it,  Hugh.  It  is  like  one  of 
those  old  English  inns  such  as  we  have  admired  in 
that  book  on  Windermere  that  Mr.  Vanever  sent  you. 
They  are  going  to  make  the  most  of  everything  when 
spring  comes ;  you  remember  the  lilac  and  syringa 
hedge  opposite,  and  the  great  elm  at  the  corner? 
The  signboard  hangs  from  that,  and  to-day  it 
creaked  in  the  wind  just  as  I  imagine  all  the  sign 
boards  creaked  that  advertised  those  wonderful 
taverns  in  Pickwick." 

"  What  an  imagination  you  have,  Twiddie  !  But 
it  helps  lots,  doesn't  it?" 


278      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

"  Indeed  it  does,  Hugh,"  she  answered  earnestly, 
but  without  looking  up.  "  Do  you  remember  how 
I  used  to  imagine  the  people  in  the  stage  —  and  the 
'going  off/  away  as  far  as  Rutland  and  New  York?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it  all.  You  never  do  that 
now?" 

"No,  —  because  I'm  going  to  make  it  come  true; 
so  there  will  be  no  need  for  '  making  believe.' "  I 
saw  her  head  bend  more  closely  over  her  work. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Twiddie?"  I  spoke  sharply, 
for  there  was  a  fear  clutching  at  my  heart. 

"  Don't  speak  so  to  me,  Hugh ;  if  you  do,  I  won't 
tell  you  anything." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  about  it 's  'coming  true  ' 
-tell  me." 

"  Just  that ;  I  'm  really  and  truly  '  going  off,' 
Hugh." 

"Look  here,  Twiddie,  be  reasonable — what  do 
you  mean?  Are  you  going  to  Miss  Cope?" 

Her  eyes  flashed  and  her  work  dropped.  "  I 
should  like  to  know  why  you  think  I  am  going  to 
Miss  Cope,  Hugh?  Your  imagination  outstrips  your 
common-sense  many  times." 

This  —  from  Twiddie  !  Suddenly  the  girl  seemed 
to  have  vanished  from  my  life,  and  left  a  woman  sitting 
there  in  Aunt  Lize's  rocker,  —  a  woman  with  whom 
in  future  I  must  reckon.  And  I,  realizing  this,  found 
my  task  of  telling  her  assuming  the  weight  and  pro 
portions  of  an  intolerable  burden.  "  Best  have  it 
over  with  now  —  once  and  for  all  time,"  I  thought, 
and  braced  myself  mentally  to  the  work.  Perhaps 
Twiddie  saw  that;  she  spoke  rapidly,  shortly: 


The  Gift  of  God  279 

"  I  should  really  like  to  know,  Hugh,  why  you 
intrude  Miss  Cope  at  every  turn  in  the  conversation?  " 
I  controlled  myself  and  answered  quietly : 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Twiddie ;  because  she  thinks  so 
much  of  you  that  she  has  planned  to  have  you  come 
to  her  for  February  and  March  to  enjoy  everything 
the  city  can  offer." 

"  Did  she  write  you  this?" 

"  Yes." 

"Why  didn't  she  address  herself  directly  to  me? 
And  since  when  has  she  looked  upon  you  as  my 
guardian  ?  "  Was  this  Twiddie  ! 

"  She  wrote  me  because  she  knows  perfectly  well 
the  interest  I  take  in  everything  touching  your  life, 
Twiddie  —  She  interrupted  me  with  a  short  laugh, 
not  a  pleasant  one. 

"  Really,  Hugh,  I  can't  see  any  reason  in  that  why 
she  should  not  give  me  the  invitation  herself." 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  later  on,  when  she  knows  —  " 

"Knows  you  are  willing  to  let  me  go?  —  Thank 
you,  I  prefer  to  be  consulted  first." 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  it  is  n't  every  girl  who  can 
get  such  a  chance.  I  should  think  you  would  like 
just  for  once  the  real  balls  and  parties  and  dinners  — 
you  Ve  imagined  enough  about  them  the  last  four 
years.  Dick  Malory  is  looking  forward  to  your  com 
ing,  and  -  She  interrupted  again : 

"  You  really  think  I  should  like  that,  Hugh?" 

"  Why  not?  You  're  young,  and  it  belongs  to  you 
by  right." 

"By  what  right,  I  should  like  to  know?"  How 
she  flashed  out  at  me  ! 


280      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"By  right  of — of  a  good  many  things  :  your  youth, 
for  instance." 

"Hugh,  tell  me  truly;  do  you  think  I  belong 
there  —  with  them?"  She  looked  at  me  earnestly, 
questioningly. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  I  answered  stoutly,  for  now  was  my 
time.  "  You  do  belong  there  —  of  right  too." 

"  Hugh,"  the  blood  rushed  to  her  face,  then  as 
quickly  receded,  leaving  it  white ;  "  do  you  remem 
ber  once  when  you  talked  with  me  and  comforted  me, 
yet  told  me  truly  about  —  about  what  that  boy  told 
me  f  Do  you  suppose  I  have  forgotten  that  ?  " 

"  No,  Twiddie,  but  —  " 

"  And  do  you  think  for  one  moment  that  I  could 
place  myself  with  such  people  as  Miss  Cope  and 
Mr.  Vanever  and  Mr.  Malory,  to  be  reminded  every 
minute  in  the  heart  of  me,  Hugh,  that  I  was  not  of 
them,  or  their  friends?  —  Do  you  suppose,  if — if 
Mr.  Malory  knew  that—  that  —  that  I  —  O  Hugh!" 
She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

I  felt  the  sweat  bead  my  upper  lip ;  this  was  awful. 
I  wet  my  lips,  for  they  were  as  dry  as  chips. 

"Twiddie,  won't  you  come  nearer  to  me?  I  have 
to  tell  you  something." 

But  she  shook  her  head  and  remained  where  she 
was ;  I  was  forced  to  go  on.  I  told  her  as  well  as  I 
knew  how  —  which  was  poorly  enough  —  and  tried 
to  prove  to  her  that  as  Philip  Vanever's  daughter  she 
belonged  of  right  among  them,  although  all  the  time 
my  heart  was  crying  out  against  the  forswearing  of 
my  lips.  I  told  her  as  gently  as  I  knew  how,  soften 
ing,  smoothing,  yet  not  daring  to  condone.  She 


The  Gift  of  God  281 

neither  spoke  nor  moved ;  but  sat  motionless,  with 
bowed  head,  as  if  all  the  waves  and  billows  of  Life's 
deluge  of  experience  were  breaking  over  her.  "  Twid- 
die,"  I  pleaded,  "  say  something  to  me  —  speak  !  " 

"  Read  me  the  letter,  Hugh,"  was  all  her  response. 
Her  voice  came  muffled  through  her  hands.  And  I 
read: 

"  DEAR  HUGH, 

"  You  are  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  up  to  the 
day  after  Thanksgiving,  and  those  I  know  you  have 
laid  before  Mr.  Lewis  before  now.  There  remains 
but  the  account  of  the  developments  by  which  I  was 
able  to  establish  the  identity  of  Twiddle's  mother  with 
the  one  I  wronged  eighteen  years  ago,  and  the  con 
sequent  proof  of  her  child's  relation  to  me.  The 
links  in  this  chain  of  evidence  are  as  follows  : 

"As  I  have  told  you,  my  father  died  of  paralysis; 
there  was  an  interval  of  but  two  days  between  the 
second  and  third  shock,  which  proved  instantly  fatal. 
During  those  two  days,  although  deprived  of  all 
speech  and  movement,  he  nevertheless  made  known 
to  me  that  I  was  to  put  my  hand  beneath  his  pillow. 
I  drew  out  a  small  velvet  case  containing  a  miniature 
on  ivory  of  my  mother.  I  had  never  seen  this  one 
before.  I  realized  that  he  wished  it  near  him,  and 
placed  it  in  his  hand,  raising  both  his  arm  and  hand 
on  two  pillows  to  bring  the  case  opposite  his  face. 
He  died  so  —  looking  at  it.  It  was  one  of  the  fairest 
faces  I  have  ever  seen :  that  of  a  girl  of  eighteen  with 
bronze  brown  hair,  dark  violet  blue  eyes,  and  an 
exquisite  complexion.  She  was  in  ball  dress,  and 
upon  her  hair  there  lay  a  wreath  of  ivy  leaves. 

"  The  miniature  was  buried  with  him.    But  that  day 


282      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

in  July,  when  Malory  and  I  went  up  to  Olympus,  and 
Twiddle  came  singing  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
and  suddenly  stood  before  us  with  the  rich  color  in 
her  cheeks  and  the  grape-vine  upon  her  hair,  I  saw 
before  me  the  living  lineaments  of  that  face  in  the 
velvet  case.  It  was  a  shock,  and  I  think  you  must 
have  seen  the  physical  effect  it  had  upon  me.  The 
two  faces  haunted  me  until  I  came  up  again  the 
other  day. 

"That  morning  after  Thanksgiving,  I  went  —  you 
will  remember — up  into  Twiddle's  room,  and  there 
on  her  little  table  I  saw  a  tintype  likeness  in  a  small 
carved,  wooden  frame.  The  face  was  that  of  the 
woman  whom  for  seven  years  I  had  tried  to  find. 
I  was  unable  to  speak,  but  Twiddie,  seeing  that 
something  was  wrong,  spoke  quickly :  '  That  is  my 
mother;  Uncle  Shim  gave  it  to  me  on  my  last  birth 
day —  and  this,  too.'  She  took  out  of  her  bureau 
drawer  a  ring,  gold,  set  with  a  small  diamond.  It 
was  the  same. 

"  How  I  found  my  way  downstairs  I  cannot  say.  I 
took  Prince  and  drove  to  find  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle.  He 
told  me  all  he  knew,  which  was  little  enough,  and 
directed  me  to  Old  Town  Gilead.  There  I  found 
that  the  physician  who  had  attended  her  in  her  last 
illness  was  dead ;  the  minister,  however,  who  had 
read  the  burial  service  was  living,  but  had  removed 
to  Alderbury.  I  had  inquired  for  Maria  Lewis,  the 
name  by  which  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle  said  she  was  known 
after  her  death.  In  the  town-registrar's  office  there 
was  no  entrance  of  any  death  under  that  name.  All 
the  man  could  tell  me  was  that,  up  to  the  time  of  her 
death,  she  was  known  as  Mrs.  Smith;  he  had  that 
from  the  minister  who  knew  the  former  town-clerk. 


The  Gift  of  God  283 

"  I  drove  then  to  Alderbury,  and  found  the  minister, 
who  failed,  after  long  thought,  to  recall  her  name. 
He  is  old,  about  eighty-two ;  and  in  such  a  case, 
where,  until  just  before  death  the  person  was  unknown 
to  him,  he  said  his  memory  was  not  to  be  trusted. 
However,  he  assured  me  he  could  go  to  the  grave, 
and  that  would  help  us  both  out. 

"  I  left  Prince  at  the  stables  at  Alderbury,  and 
hired  a  trap  to  take  us  back  to  Old  Town  Gilead. 
On  the  way  over  there  the  old  gentleman  recalled 
from  time  to  time  little  things  in  regard  to  the 
woman,  and  told  me  he  remembered  distinctly  being 
called  in  just  before  her  death  to  baptize  her  and 
christen  her  little  child ;  but  the  child's  name  had 
likewise  escaped  his  memory.  In  the  graveyard,  he 
sought  among  the  graves,  and,  as  often  happens,  by 
some  powerful  law  of  association  the  environment 
worked  to  the  quickening  of  his  memory.  '  It  was 
here,'  he  said  suddenly,  and,  stooping,  he  read  the 
name,  '  Elvira  Rasle.' 

"  '  That 's  the  one,'  he  said.  '  Poor  woman,  it  was 
strange  I  could  not  recall  her  name ;  but  it  all  comes 
back  to  me  now.  Strange  I  should  have  forgotten 
it!' 

"  The  name  before  me  was  not  the  one  by  which  I 
had  known  her,  but  nevertheless  I  had  seen  the  name. 
After  my  father's  death,  in  settling  the  estate  and 
looking  over  his  private  papers,  I  came  upon  a  draft 
on  a  New  York  bank.  It  was  for  a  sum  often  thou 
sand  dollars,  made  payable  to  Elvira  Rasle.  At  that 
time  I  felt  that  it  would  furnish  me  some  clue  to 
what  I  had  been  seeking,  and  immediately  advertised 
in  papers  East  and  West,  placing  the  advertisement 
upon  a  'claimant  for  property'  basis.  I  had  but  two 


284      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

answers,  and  they  proved  to  be  spurious  claims.  Of 
course,  the  looking  up  of  the  death-entry  at  the  office 
proved  without  difficulty. 

"  On  the  drive  back  to  Alderbury,  the  old  gentle 
man  suddenly  struck  his  forefinger  to  his  forehead 
with  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  '  Sir/  he  said,  '  you  have  not  told  me  your 
name,  but  I  take  it  for  granted  you  have  an  interest 
either  in  that  woman  or  her  child?'  I  assured  him 
I  was  looking  up  the  mother's  death,  as  there  was 
property  waiting  to  be  claimed  by  her  heir. 

"  '  Then,  surely  I  can  help  one  of  God's  little  ones, 
for  it  has  come  to  me  little  by  little  that  my  friend, 
the  good  physician  of  this  place,  just  before  his  death, 
intrusted  to  my  care  and  keeping  a  little  package  con 
taining  the  name  of  that  poor  erring  woman,  the  name 
of  her  child  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  name  of  the 
father  of  her  child.  As  you  may  be  aware,  Sir,  it  is 
the  custom  when  a  physician  is  called  to  aid  a  woman 
in  such  straits,  to  require  her  to  reveal  under  oath  to 
her  physician  the  true  name  of  the  child's  father,  and 
this  she  did  to  my  friend.  He  gave  me  the  package, 
with  the  request  to  keep  it  for  reference  in  case  any 
inquiry  should  be  made  for  the  child.  I  recall,  more 
over,  that  he  told  me  the  child  was  born  somewhere 
in  the  Adirondacks,  where  he  was  summering  for  a 
few  weeks,  and  that  the  woman  had  told  him  she  had 
settled  in  Old  Town  Gilead  to  be  near  him ;  but  that 
afterwards,  before  she  died,  he  had  learned  that  she 
had  relations  who  lived  in  another  township  not  dis 
tant  from  here. 

" '  If  you  will  stop  in  at  the  rectory  for  a  few 
minutes,  we  will  look  over  these  papers  together.' 

"  In  that  package  I  found  all  that  was  necessary 


The  Gift  of  God  285 

for  proof.  There  was  her  full  name,  Maria  Elvira 
Rasle;  Mr.  Lewis's  name  and  address;  Twiddle's 
baptismal  certificate  with  her  name,  Theodora;  and 
my  own  in  her  handwriting. 

"  On  the  back  of  that  draft  was  an  indorsement 
'  Elvira  Rasle,'  and  the  handwriting  was  identical  with 
that  on  the  slips  of  paper  in  the  package.  Presum 
ably,  she  had  received  the  check  from  my  father, 
and,  in  her  pride,  returned  it  to  him;  but  that  is 
conjecture. 

"  This  is  all ;  but  it  is  sufficient  for  me  to  claim  my 
own,  —  to  claim  Twiddie  legally  for  my  own  —  " 

"  Never !  — Never  !  "  She  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
a  suppressed  but  heart-breaking  cry ;  her  hands  were 
clinched,  and  a  spot  of  burning  scarlet  on  each  cheek 
accented  the  pallor  of  her  face ;  "  I  tell  you,  Hugh 
Armstrong,  I  will  never  be  claimed  as  his  —  His  ? 
How  dare  he,  when  he  has  filched  my  very  life ;  what 
right  has  he  to  take  me  from  —  Oh,  Hugh,  Hugh  —  " 
She  sank  on  her  knees  by  the  cot  and,  bowing  her 
head  upon  it,  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  I 
tried  to  draw  her  up  to  me,  for  my  own  heart  was 
bleeding  for  her ;  but  she  pulled  away  and  rose  quickly 
again,  crying  out  under  her  breath : 

"Oh,  I  will  go  — will  go  —  " 

Then  in  my  extremity,  seeing  hers,  I  spoke  —  but 
it  was  the  wrong  word  : 

"  Twiddie,  hear  me ;  heed  me  just  this  once.  If 
you  must  go,  promise  me  you  will  go  to  Madeline 
Cope ;  she  will  be  as  a  mother  to  you  —  " 

"  Hugh  —  "  She  interrupted  me ;  her  voice  caught 
in  a  sob  on  that  word,  but  thereafter  she  spoke  in 


286      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

almost  a  monotone  and  with  a  perfect  control,  which 
gave  to  the  passionate  words  an  emphasis  wholly 
disproportionate  to  the  manner  of  their  utterance ; 
"there  are  limits  —  and  I  can  bear  no  more.  For 
three  years  I  have  run  and  waited  and  tended  and 
fetched  and  carried  —  for  her,  and  I'm  sick  of  it. 
It's  been  'Twiddie  this'  and  '  Twiddie  that'  day  in, 
day  out,  and  I  am  no  longer  a  child.  No  —  don't 
say  a  word ;  I  know  what  I  owe  to  you  ;  but  do  you 
think  for  a  moment  that  I,  as  a  woman,  can  in  the 
future  be  dependent  for  support  upon  you  and 
your  work  as  I  have  been  as  a  child  —  when  no 
tie  of  blood  binds  us?  —  No,  don't  say  anything; 
it 's  too  late ;  I  shall  go,  the  sooner  the  better  — 
but  not  to  Miss  Cope ;  I  can  assure  you  of  that. 
She  would  be  the  very  last  in  this  world  to  whom  I 
would  turn  — 

"  You  do  her  great  wrong,  Twiddie ;  "  I  raised 
my  voice ;  "  I  will  speak  —  you  have  no  better 
friend  —  " 

"  Hugh,  stop  !  "  She  pressed  both  hands  over  her 
ears ;  "  I  tell  you  I  will  hear  no  more  — " 

"You  must"  I  was  terribly  roused,  and  I  almost 
thundered  at  her.  Her  hands  dropped  by  her  sides 
and  every  particle  of  color  left  her  face.  She  stared 
at  me  as  if  I  were  about  to  pronounce  some  final 
judgment  upon  her.  "  You  may  go  —  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth,  if  your  wilfulness  lead  you  there,  but  one 
question  you  shall  answer  me  before  you  go :  Do 
you  want  to  go?  Are  you  fulfilling  your  own  desire 
in  this  matter?  Answer  me." 

I  saw  the  corners  of  her  mouth  tremble,  and  a  sud- 


The  Gift  of  God  287 

den  contraction  of  the  white  throat.  "Yes,"  she 
spoke  slowly  and  as  if  weary,  "  I  want  to  go  —  I 
can't  wait  to  get  away." 

"  Then  go,"  I  said,  and  turned  my  face  to  the 
windows,  against  the  panes  of  which  the  sleet,  driven 
by  a  strong  southeast  gale,  that  since  sunset  had 
been  howling  through  the  forest,  was  rattling  like 
small-shot. 

When  I  turned  my  head  again  she  had  left  the 
room,  but  not  before  she  had  laid  fresh  fuel  on  the 
fire.  Seeing  that,  I  buried  my  face  in  my  hands,  and 
had  it  out  with  myself. 

The  next  day,  when  Aunt  Lize  and  Uncle  Shim 
came  to  me  in  their  distress  and  trouble,  — for  Twid- 
die  had  laid  all  her  plan  before  them,  but  had  not 
even  asked  permission  of  Uncle  Shim  to  carry  it 
out,  —  I  assumed  a  cheerful  manner  that  was  but  a 
mask  for  my  outraged  feelings  —  for  had  she  not 
told  me  in  so  many  words  that  she  wanted  to  leave 
me?  —  and  spoke  encouraging  words  that  belied  the 
heaviness  of  my  heart. 

"  The  plan  is  a  good  one,  Uncle  Shim,  and  I 
believe  she  will  make  it  work.  There  is  no  harm  in 
her  going  down  to  Boston  to  board  two  or  three 
weeks  with  her  old  teacher,  and,  meanwhile,  advertis 
ing  for  a  place  as  companion.  Twiddie  has  a  level 
head  and  can  make  her  way  in  the  world  with  the 
contents  of  her  knowledge-box  at  her  disposal.  She 
reads  French  well,  and  her  Latin  has  astonished  me. 
She  has  even  tackled  the  German.  Oh,  she  '11  do  — 
you  '11  be  proud  of  her  some  day." 


288      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

He  smiled,  but  uncertainly.  "  I  dunno,  Hughie,  ez 
I'd  mind  her  goiri  so  much;  she  's  young,  'n'  't ain't 
nat'ral  fer  the  fledglings  not  ter  want  ter  try  their 
wings,  'n'  we  air  all  gittin'  erlong  in  years  —  't  ain't 
thet ;  but  it 's  the  idee  er  her  bein'  in  thet  great 
hog's  wash  er  city  life  — " 

I  laughed.  "  I  should  think  you  had  been  reading 
Carlyle,  Uncle  Shim." 

"  I  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  Carlyle,  Hughie,  'n'  I 
don't  keer  nuther;  I  hain't  much  on  readin',  but  I  've 
heerd  tell;  'n'  only  t'  other  week,  I  see  in  the  Granger 
where  er  gal  went  down  country  'n'  got  pickpocketed 
'fore  she  left  the  depot,  'n'  hed  ter  go  ter  the  lockup 
fer  er  night's  lodgin'  'fore  she  could  git  word  hum  ter 
send  her  some  cash.  —  I  dunno  —  I  dunno  —  "  He 
shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do,  Uncle  Shim  ;  I  '11  write 
to  Miss  Cope  and  tell  her  all  about  it,  and  ask  her 
to  go  on  to  Boston  and  see  Twiddie  and  report  just 
how  things  are;  and  then  I  '11  send  a  telegram  to  her 
father  to-day,  and  you  can  take  them  both  down  un 
beknown  to  Twiddie,  and  I  'm  sure  you  and  Aunt 
Lize  need  not  to  worry." 

Aunt  Lize  put  her  hand  on  my  hair  and  began  to 
stroke  it.  I  knew  by  that  she  was  satisfied.  Uncle 
Shim  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Thet '11  take  er  load  off  'n  my  mind,  Hughie; 
kinder  seems,  arter  all,  ez  ef  things  wuz  goin1  ter 
work  round  all  right.  But  I  feel  sorter  meechin'  ter 
be  feelin'  thankful  ter  my  God  thet  my  leetle  gal 's 
got  er  father  ter  look  out  fer  her,  arter  what  I  Ve 
said  !  —  Yew  git  them  despatches  ready,  'n'  I  '11  hitch 


The  Gift  of  God  289 

up,  'n'  take  'em  down  ez  fur  ez  Scawsville  ter  make 
sure." 

In  three  days'  time  we  had  answers  from  both  that 
they  would  be  in  the  city  by  the  time  Twiddie  should 
be  there.  Philip  thought  it  would  not  be  best  to  let 
her  know  of  his  presence,  but  he  had  planned  to  have 
an  old  friend  of  his  mother's,  who  had  lived  in  the 
city  for  years,  answer  all  advertisements  she  might 
see  in  the  papers  for  a  position  as  companion,  and  so 
procure  Twiddie's  service,  assure  her  a  home,  and 
afford  her  the  protection  and  care  that  would  put  all 
our  hearts  at  rest  while  she  should  be  away  from  us. 

Twiddie  was  apparently  in  the  gayest  of  spirits, 
promising  Aunt  Lize  this,  that,  and  the  other  with 
the  money  she  was  to  earn ;  teasing  Uncle  Shim, 
who  never  takes  a  pen  in  his  hand,  to  write  her  regu 
larly  once  a  week,  and  threatening,  when  he  begged 
off,  to  stay  away  from  him  five  years;  coming  in  a 
dozen  times  a  day  to  show  me  the  few  new  things  she 
had  bought  for  her  journey ;  practising  her  French 
upon  me  and  Toughheel,  much  to  the  latter's  amaze 
ment,  and  singing,  "  Roky  tummy  me  la,  la,  la  — 

I  entered  into  it  all  —  but  I  could  but  wonder. 
Was  this  gay  girl  the  woman  who  had  knelt  by  my 
cot?  I  answered  jest  for  jest,  smile  for  smile — and 
she  never  knew,  she  never  knew  —  I  didn't  mean 
she  should;  and  I  would  n't  ask  her  to  stay  —  not 
I.  But  on  that  seventeenth  day  of  December,  when 
Uncle  Shim  drove  the  sleigh  around  the  house  that 
she  might  wave  good-by  again  to  me  at  the  window, 
I  knew  that  a  part  of  my  life  was  bidding  me  farewell. 
I  strained  my  ears  to  catch  the  last  "  tankle "  of 


290      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

Prince's  cow-bell ;  then  I  turned  my  face  to  the  David 
—  and  refused  my  dinner. 

Oh,  that  winter !  I  tried  to  work,  I  tried  to  read,  I 
tried  to  study  —  but  my  hand  had  lost  its  cunning, 
my  eyes  roamed  from  the  page  to  the  bleak  moun 
tain-world  in  the  east,  my  brain  refused  to  work  in 
the  old  grooves. 

The  cold  was  piercing,  penetrating  flesh  and  mar 
row,  and  numbing  the  soul.  And  the  dreary,  empty 
house !  My  eardrums  were  strained  to  the  aching 
point  in  trying  to  hear  a  light  footstep  on  the  garret 
stair,  to  catch  some  sound  of  the  sweet  voice  and  the 
joyous  laugh.  The  routine  of  the  work  went  on,  day 
in,  day  out,  without  let  or  hindrance,  unbroken  by  a 
jest  or  a  merry  retort. 

Aunt  Lize's  step  seemed  to  have  lost  the  elasticity 
that  had  been  peculiar  to  it  for  fifty  years,  and  Uncle 
Shim  stooped  more  than  ever.  Day  after  day,  in 
snow  and  sleet  and  bitter  cold,  he  went  down  for  the 
mail,  and  letters  from  Philip  and  Madeline  came 
often  and  regularly,  filled  with  the  cheer  and  love  of 
perfect  friendship.  Even  a  batch  from  Waldort  made 
its  appearance  just  after  Christmas,  with  a  box  for 
Twiddie.  We  sent  it  to  her  at  once. 

I  lived  from  Tuesday  till  Thursday,  from  Thurs 
day  till  Saturday,  and  again  till  Tuesday,  when  her 
tri-weekly  letters  came  regularly  to  Aunt  Lize  — 
bright,  cheerful,  full  of  hope  and  kindly  messages; 
but  to  me  she  never  wrote.  She  was  leading  a 
new  life. 

There  came  a  day,  the  last  of  February,  when  I 
laid  aside  my  work.  A  strange  weakness  had  come 


The  Gift  of  God  291 

upon  me,  almost  a  numbing  of  my  faculties.  I  laid  it 
at  first  to  the  excessive  cold.  But  as  the  sun  warmed 
in  early  March,  and  I  felt  no  stronger,  I  laid  it  to  my 
loss  of  appetite.  Aunt  Lize  tried  to  tempt  me  with 
all  my  favorite  dishes,  but  even  to  please  her  I  could 
not  eat  a  sufficient  amount,  or  regularly.  At  last 
Aunt  Lize's  face  took  on  the  old  worried  look  of 
five  years  before.  I  assured  her  I  was  all  right,  but 
I  saw  her  watching  me  from  the  kitchen  when  I  lay 
by  the  hour  with  my  face  turned  to  the  David,  seeing 
with  unseeing  eyes  the  play  of  the  firelight  upon  it, 
and  thinking  over  every  little  act  of  loving  grace  — 
and  they  were  legion — towards  me,  selfish,  unthank 
ful,  unwitting,  unmindful  of  the  treasure  in  my  own 
chimney-corner. 

Every  look,  every  word,  every  gesture  came  back 
to  me ;  —  the  willing  feet,  oh,  how  willing !  the  help 
ful  hands  that  brought  in  my  three  meals  daily  and 
never  tired;  the  loving  smile  when  I  was  weary; 
the  hours  she  had  read  to  me  while  I  toiled ;  and, 
in  the  night-watches,  there  came  to  me  the  touch  of 
her  long  braid  upon  my  forehead,  and  the  clinging 
of  her  child's  hands  about  my  neck  when  she 
whispered  that  it  was  all  "  coming  true." 

It  was  then  that  Madeline  Cope  sent  me  those 
letters  Twiddie  had  written  her  during  the  three  years. 
I  read  them  also  in  the  night-watches,  and  again  by 
daylight,  that  I  might  not  be  deceived.  No, — the 
loving  girl's  heart  was  all  there.  It  was  "  Hugh," 
"  Hugh,"  and  again  "  Hugh,"  that  filled  page  after 
page.  But  I  said  to  myself  that  was  the  child  —  she 
was  mine;  but  the  woman  had  awakened,  and  she 


292      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

was  not  for  me ;  —  for  me  !  How  dared  I  ?  —  helpless, 
useless  almost,  or  so  it  seemed  to  me ;  my  life  mort 
gaged  already  for  two-thirds  —  and  ten  years  her 
senior. 

One  night  I  lay  watching  the  fire,  for  I  was  sleep 
less,  and  often  in  following  the  flare  and  flicker  of  a 
burning  stick  I  could  lose  myself. 

But  that  night,  as  I  continued  to  stare  steadfastly, 
there  was  outlined  on  the  rug  a  little  figure,  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  her  chin  in  the  palms,  and  I 
knew,  as  we  know  between  sleeping  and  waking,  that 
it  was  Twiddie ;  and  slowly  the  flame  and  shadow  in 
the  fireplace  grew  into  a  branching  tree  with  the  wind 
swaying  its  top,  and  a  white,  burnt  streak  in  the  soot 
at  the  back  was  a  road  with  no  turning ;  and  far,  far 
down  it,  I  could  see  a  yellow  speck  that  drew  nearer 
and  nearer  until  I  recognized  it  as  the  old  Hornet; 
and  lo  !  —  it  drew  up  beneath  the  spreading  tree,  and 
a  boy  —  I  started,  when  I  made  that  discovery  —  was 
on  the  trunk-rack,  swinging  his  legs ;  and  the  boy 
was  myself,  Hugh  Armstrong.  He  jumped  down 
from  the  rack,  and  said  to  the  little  figure  on  the  rug, 
which  seemed  to  be  beneath  the  tree :  "  Miss  Twiddie 
Lewis,  here  's  your  mail,"  and  put  it  into  a  hollow 
of  the  tree ;  and  the  little  figure  on  the  rug,  which 
seemed  beneath  the  tree,  rose  quickly  and  took  out 
the  letters  and  read  them  in  a  low  voice  to  herself:  - 
"  Dear  Twiddie  "  —  "  Dear  Miss  Twiddie  "  —  last, 
"  Dearest  Theodora."  She  laughed  softly,  as  if  fear 
ing  to  wake  me,  and  murmured  :  "  H.  A."  —  "  H.  A.," 
and  kissed  that  letter  again  and  again.  But  the  boy, 
that  was  I,  had  not  gone  off  with  the  stage,  which  had 


The  Gift  of  God  293 

somehow  disappeared  without  my  seeing  it.  He  had 
hidden  behind  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  when  she 
kissed  that  letter  the  third  time,  he  sprang  out  from 
behind  the  tree  — 

I  must  have  fallen  asleep  then  or  fully  awakened, 
I  don't  know  which.  But  I  awoke  in  the  morn 
ing,  refreshed,  and  took  pen  and  ink  and  wrote  to 
Twiddle ;  and  I  began  that  letter,  "  Dearest  Theo 
dora,"  and  signed  myself,  "  H.  A."  —  and  what  was 
written  between  that  beginning  and  that  ending,  let 
any  man  who  has  loved  with  all  his  heart  and  »ou\ 
and  body,  his  mind  and  strength,  one  woman,  and 
her  only,  supply.  —  Thereof  the  deponent  saith  no 
more. 

But  of  one  thing  I  may  tell,  how  on  Thursday  of 
that  week  —  I  had  sent  the  letter  on  Monday — just 
before  sunset,  as  I  was  hoping,  praying  that  there 
might  be  some  answer  to  ease  my  aching  heart,  I 
heard  the  "  tankle  "  of  the  cow-bell,  the  squeaking  of 
the  runners  as  Uncle  Shim  drove  the  sleigh  into  the 
barn,  and  Aunt  Lize  go  out  into  the  shed.  It  seemed 
a  week  before  she  came  in  again,  and  I  could  call  to 
her. 

"  Aunt  Lize,  is  there  any  mail?  " 

"  No,  Hughie,  not  ter-night."  I  noticed  that  her 
voice  had  something  of  the  old  ring  in  it.  "  I  '11  hev 
yer  supper  ready  in  er  few  minutes." 

"  I  don't  want  any,  Aunt  Lize ;  just  a  sup  of  milk 
and  a  piece  of  bread,"  I  said,  then  turned  to  the  re 
flection  of  the  sunset  fires  in  the  east  —  disheartened, 
sick,  weary  of  the  game. 

I  heard  Aunt  Lize  about  the  kitchen,  and  soon  the 


294      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

door  was  pushed  open,  and  the  clatter  of  dishes  told 
me  she  was  coming. 

"I  told  you  I  didn't  want  any,  Aunt  Lize  —  "I 
spoke  irritably,  and  turned  to  the  door  —  lo  !  there  she 
stood  in  the  level  soft  light  of  the  flushing  east  with 
the  tray  in  her  two  hands  that  trembled  so  the  dishes 
kept  up  a  subdued,  unsteady  clirring. 

"  Aunt  Lize  thought  you  might  eat  some  supper  if 
I  brought  it  in  —  " 

Still  I  could  not  speak.  I  saw  the  color  leave  her 
sweet  face  and  the  hands  shake  until  she  was  obliged 
to  set  the  tray  on  the  bench. 

"  Aunt  Lize  wrote  me  you  were  n't  well,  Hugh,  so 
I've  come  —  home." 

Then  I  found  my  voice.  "  Theodora  !  "  —  and 
held  out  my  arms. 

She  came  swiftly  to  the  cot,  and  leaned  over  me 
with  great  unshed  tears  in  her  eyes.  I  drew  her  down 
beside  me ;  and  then,  as  of  old,  she  nestled  in  the  hol 
low  of  my  arm,  and,  throwing  back  her  head  upon  my 
shoulder,  smiled  up  at  me  with  such  depths  of  promise 
shining  through  her  tears,  that  I  — 

June,  189-. 

Three  months  since  then,  and  I  am  at  work  in  the 
Pen  — the  days  all  too  short  even  at  this  first  summer 
solstice  that  ever  has  been  since  the  world  was  made, 
to  accomplish  what  I  wish.  I  've  whistled  till  I  'm 
fairly  faint,  for  she  made  me  promise  "  to  keep  my 
spirits  up  "  while  she  should  be  away.  I  have  had 
need  of  it.  She  has  gone  up  into  the  Old  Pasture 
with  Uncle  Shim,  and  is  to  bring  me  a  branch  of  th£ 


The  Gift  of  God  295 

sweet-brier  for  a  design.  She  has  been  gone  already 
an  hour ;  she  is  rarely  absent  from  my  side  now  for 
that  length  of  time,  either  by  day  or  night  —  there 
she  comes  !  I  hear  her  calling  Tag  — 

I  began  to  whistle  for  all  I  was  worth,  but  as  she 
neared  the  corner  of  the  house  I  had  to  caii  just  to 
hear  the  sweet  voice  answer. 

"  Theodora !  " 

"Yes,  Hugh,  I'm  coming." 

Oh,  my  Gift  of  God  —  my  Gift  of  God  f 


VII 

THE    PASSING   OF   THE    HORNET 


VII 

THE   PASSING   OF  THE   HORNET 

TWO  years  ago  the  scream  of  the  locomotive 
awoke  new   echoes   in   the   Valley   of  the 
White   Branch,    and    sounded    forever   the 
doom  of  the  Hornet's  post-horn. 

Until  the  completion  of  the  road,  the  yellow-bodied, 
black-banded  stage-coach  could  still  be  seen  daily  lung 
ing  along  the  old  Post-road  from  Alderbury  "  over 
the  Mountain."  On  its  last  tenth  of  September,  when 
the  Hornet  left  that  town,  it  had  but  two  passengers : 
a  man  and  a  woman,  who  had  kept  the  inside  seats 
all  the  way  up  the  Valley.  Not  until  the  driver,  a 
stranger,  —  for  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle  had  passed  with  the 
passing  of  the  last  century  and  the  iron  invasion  of 
the  new,  —  had  left  Scawsville  two  miles  behind  him, 
did  the  sound  of  pick  and  axe,  of  dynamite  blast  and 
hurtling  rocks,  of  crashing  trees,  the  ring  of  riveted 
iron  and  the  creak  of  derrick  wholly  cease,  and  the 
unsightly  scars  of  gravel-pit,  cleared  and  blackened 
mountain-sides,  rock-hewn  roadbed,  and  meadows  dis 
figured  by  the  garish,  yellow-white  of  new-timbered 
trestle-work,  entirely  disappear. 

As  the  stage  approached  the  slope  behind  the 
Bend,  the  late  afternoon  sun,  that  had  been  obscured 
by  heavy  cloud-masses,  shone  forth  brilliantly  be- 


300      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

neath  their  rolled,  dark  edges,  and  lighted  the  walls 
and  headstones  of  the  Old  Church  Settlement. 

The  man  put  his  head  out  of  the  window :  "  You  may 
leave  us  here,"  he  said  to  the  driver  who  drew  rein  at  the 
foot  of  the  grassy  hillside  below  the  church  to  let  the 
two  out.  Then  he  drove  on ;  but  at  the  next  water-bar 
he  reined  up  again,  and,  turning  to  look  backwards  and 
downwards,  he  saw  the  two,  hand  in  hand,  slowly  climb 
ing  the  steep  path  that  led  directly  to  the  churchyard. 
He  stared  for  full  a  minute ;  then,  gathering  up  the 
reins,  he  scratched  the  back  of  his  head  with  the  butt 
of  his  whipstock,  and  chirruped  encouragingly  to  his 
horses  that  strained  to  the  steep  rise  before  them. 

Time  has  genially  mellowed  the  marbles  and  em 
bossed  with  lichens  the  other  headstones  of  the  Old 
Church  Settlement,  and  its  every  grave  is  covered  and 
graced  with  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  myrtle.  Year 
after  year  the  grace  of  this  green  mantle  is  renewed, 
nor  biting  frost  nor  frozen  ground  endangers  its 
vigorous  life. 

The  man  and  woman  made  their  way  at  once  across 
the  tangle  of  vines  that  obliterates  the  paths,  and 
often  a  forgotten  grave,  to  a  corner  overhung  by  a 
tall  larch,  where,  at  the  end  of  a  row  of  headstones, 
both  marble  and  slate,  stands  a  wooden  cross  of  oak, 
some  five  feet  in  height. 

The  woman,  the  tears  raining  down  her  cheeks, 
knelt  by  the  myrtle-covered  mound  before  raising  her 
eyes  to  read  the  inscription  on  the  cross: 

"  HUGH  ARMSTRONG, 
WOOD-CARVER. 
AGED  30." 


The  Passing  of  the  Hornet         301 

"  Philip,  O  Philip  !  "  -  her  voice  was  broken  with 
sobs,  —  "it  is  more  beautiful  even  than  you  said; 
and  what  do  we  not  owe  to  him !  " 

Woman-like,  she  began  to  busy  herself  with  pick 
ing  off  a  withered  leaf  or  two,  and  disentangling  an 
obstinate  vine  that  spoiled  the  symmetry  of  the  other 
wise  perfect  oval  of  the  mound. 

"  He  bridged  an  abyss  for  me  with  his  friendship, 
Madeline ;  and  when  I  knelt  by  this  open  grave  four 
years  ago,  I  consecrated  myself  anew  to  'walking 
humbly  with  God  '  —  but  with  you  by  my  side." 

"  But,  Philip,  there  was  something  more,  something 
of  which  I  have  never  told  you  — 

"I  know  it,  Madeline." 

"Did  Hugh  tell  you?" 

"  No —  never." 

"  Then  how  could  you  know,  Philip?  " 

He  smiled  down  upon  her  and  caught  away  her 
hand  from  the  vine  she  was  lifting. 

"  Because  my  love  for  one  woman  had  given  me 
second  sight  where  another  man's  love  for  her  wa= 
concerned."  An  answering  smile  broke  through  her 
tears. 

"  See,  Philip,"  she  said,  "  what  Hansl  has  sent  us 
from  the  Frohe  Alp  for  this  very  hour.  It  was  his 
request;  he  knew  they  would  keep,  and  that  I  was 
coming  up  this  fall.  I  did  n't  want  you  to  know  of  it 
before."  She  untied  the  pasteboard  box  she  had 
with  her,  and  taking  out  a  large  bunch  of  Alpine 
Edelweiss  laid  it  among  the  myrtle  just  over  the 
stilled  heart  beneathj 

It  was  the  man's  turn  to  fight  with  his  emotion- 


302      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"  Come,  dearest,  we  must  be  going.  It  is  near  sun 
set  and  the  chill  will  fall  with  the  dew;  you  must  not 
risk  too  great  a  strain  or  exposure  as  you  are.  I  see 
the  carriage  coming  that  I  ordered  from  Farnsfield." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  aided  her  to  rise, 
tenderly,  as  is  the  way  of  a  man  towards  a  woman 
who  carries  another  life  beneath  her  heart.  She 
leaned  heavily  upon  him  as  they  went  down  the  steep 
path. 

"  Twiddle  wrote  she  would  be  down  with  Aunt  Lize 
to-morrow  morning  at  the  inn,"  she  said,  as  he  helped 
her  into  the  carriage. 

Her  husband  was  silent,  pondering  many  things. 

As  he  neared  the  butternut  tree  he  found  himself 
hoping  against  hope  that  he  might  find  his  child 
awaiting  him  there.  Yet  he  knew  from  the  experi 
ence  of  the  last  four  years  that  the  hope  would  be  in 
vain.  He  had  been  unable,  aided  and  abetted  as  he 
had  been  by  his  wife,  to  change  the  old  relationship 
which  had  obtained  between  them  from  the  time  of 
his  first  coming  to  the  Mountain  —  now  nearly  ten 
years  ago.  She  welcomed  him  ever  as  a  friend  — her 
friend  and  Hugh's;  but,  after  her  husband's  death, 
whenever  he  had  attempted  to  establish  his  natural 
claim  —  and  he  had  tried  in  many  ways,  in  all  ways 
that  his  heart  could  prompt  his  brain  to  devise,  in 
ways  that  could  offend  neither  her  pride  nor  her  self- 
respect  —  he  had  been  met  with  a  stubborn,  but 
gentle,  resistance. 

He  had  come  to  acknowledge,  unwillingly,  without 
reserve,  in  humiliation,  that  he  would  be  allowed  to 
be  naught  to  her  but  a  friend.  The  logic  of  the 


The  Passing  of  the  Hornet         303 

moral  law  was  irrefutable;  that  never  forgave.  He 
recognized  the  justice ;  he  bowed  to  the  decree,  — 
there  was  naught  else  left  for  him  to  do,  —  but  he 
knew,  as  he  passed  the  butternut  tree  and  found  no 
one  waiting  for  him  there,  that  he  must  long  unto  the 
End  for  that  which  would  never  be  wholly  his :  his 
first  child's  filial  love.  And  his  heart  was  sore. 

It  was  his  wife  who  spoke  as  the  carriage  climbed 
the  steep  rise  beyond  the  tree : 

"  Twiddie  wrote  me  a  few  weeks  ago  that  Franz 
Waldort  was  coming  on  in  the  spring.     I  wonder  — 
She   did   not  finish  that  sentence,   but  her  husband 
heard  her  murmur: 

"  Poor  Dick  !  —  " 

Falling  leaf,  drifting  snows,  springing  green  had 
marked  two-thirds  of  the  cycle  of  another  year.  It 
was  the  Hornet's  last  trip,  and  it  carried  the  mail  and 
but  one  passenger  as  it  left  Scawsville. 

Along  the  route  not  only  the  farmhouses  but  entire 
hamlets  were  deserted,  for  on  that  day  the  grand 
opening  excursion  of  the  Valley  Railroad  had  gath 
ered  its  hundreds  from  far  and  near  to  celebrate  with 
brass  band,  colors,  and  speeches  the  Progress  of  the 
Inevitable. 

All  along  the  River  Valley  the  construction  of  the 
road  had  had  its  interest  for  the  passenger.  He  had, 
however,  asked  no  questions  concerning  it,  nor  had 
the  driver  volunteered  any  information ;  but  when 
they  left  the  valley  for  the  heights,  the  latter,  hitherto 
uncommunicative,  pointing  with  the  butt  of  his  whip- 
stock  to  a  shoring  of  piles  and  stone,  broke  the  silence : 


304      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

"  They  've  ben  tryin"  to  fence  in  the  Branch ;  but 
jest  let  it  come  ter  'n  ice-jam  j'ining  hands  with  er 
spring  freshet,  'n'  I  can  tell  'em  ther  '11  be  music  ter 
beat  the  band  down  thar,"  he  jerked  his  whipstock 
backwards  towards  Alderbury ;  "  the  River  '11  do  some 
waltzin'  right  over  thet  to  er  purty  lively  tune  tew,  — 
yer  can  bet  yer  life  on  thet." 

"  I  noticed  a  few  miles  back  that  a  heavy  roadbed 
had  been  laid  on  an  embankment  of  clay,"  said  the 
stranger.  "There  will  be  a  landslide  into  the  river 
some  day,  just  at  that  point.  Why  did  n't  they  leave 
the  heavy  timber  on  the  bank  to  protect  it?" 

"  They  say  the  Comp'ny  cut  it  to  run  the  engines 
on  the  spot,  so  's  ter  save  coal —  kinder  worked  their 
way  along  up  thet  way." 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  for  the  stranger  had 
merely  smiled  as  if  incredulous  of  such  folly  in  en 
lightened  times. 

He  was  thinking  what  an  anomaly  it  was  —  this 
small  out-of-the-way  corner  of  America,  this  North 
Country  of  the  New  England.  The  trained  vision  of 
the  geologist  was  noting  the  dip  of  the  strata,  the 
outcrops,  the  old  river-beds  and  terraces,  the  tracks 
of  glaciers,  the  work  of  water;  and  the  trained  mind 
was  intent  upon  certain  problems,  psycho-physical, 
that  were  presenting  themselves  to  him  in  rapid 
succession  as  the  Hornet  slowly  pulled  up  the  over 
lapping  foothills.  The  keen  eye  took  note  of  the  con 
figuration  of  the  ever-widening  expanse  of  country. 

It  was  old,  this  New  England ;  there  was  no  doubt 
about  that.  He  could  tell  the  signs  of  its  age  as  he 
could  tell  them  in  a  horse :  by  the  wearing  down  of 


The  Passing  of  the  Hornet         305 

the  grinders.  The  great  primeval  mountains  had 
been  ground  down  to  their  granite  roots,  and  over 
laid  with  new  deposit. 

He  smiled  at  his  fancy ;  yet  it  was  a  fact  that  this 
New  England  had  come  within  an  ace  of  being  an 
island  like  the  mother-country.  Just  a  deeper  furrow 
drawn  here  and  there  by  the  glacier's  plough,  an  extra 
lengthening  and  deepening  of  the  Hudson's  gorge,  a 
touch  in  the  extreme  east,  —  and  the  noble  North  River, 
Champlain,the  St.  Lawrence,  the  St.  John,  the  Atlantic 
would  have  rendered  it  insular,  impregnable. 

Indeed,  like  the  Old  England,  its  characteristics 
were  many  of  them  insular.  And  how  old  the  New 
was  getting  to  be  both  politically  and  sociologically ! 
Like  the  Old  England,  it  had  bred  —  already  now  for 
these  three  hundred  years  —  men;  was  still  breeding 
them :  men  who  had  been  the  pioneers  in  an  Eastern 
wilderness ;  men  who  had  been  the  pioneers  in  a  West 
ern  one,  who  had  made  their  way  across  a  mountain- 
bastioned  continent,  who  had  rounded  that  mighty 
outpost  of  the  two  Americas,  —  the  sentinel  of  two 
great  oceans  —  the  Headland  of  the  Horn,  and  made 
for  statehood  in  the  early  anarchic  conditions  and 
genetic  throes  of  the  newest  and  farthest  West  on  the 
shores  of  the  Pacific;  made  for  Law,  made  for  Order, 
made  for  Stability.  —  And  from  this  poor  soil ! 

He  gazed  around  him;  — it  was  so  poor,  so  needy, 
yielding  but  grudgingly  sustenance ;  the  climate  for 
a  time  rigorously  arctic ;  the  waters  bound  as  with 
adamant  for  many  months ;  its  summers  short  and 
almost  tropical,  yet  in  a  few  weeks  working  a  natural 
revelation  even  to  his  Western  eyes  —  as  witness  that 

20 


306      The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus 

old  apple  tree  !  — A  mere  roadside  distortion,  gnarled, 
warped,  wind-riven,  twisted  of  branch,  hoar  with  moss 
and  lichen,  graced  meagrely  with  half  abortive  foliage  ! 

Yet — towards  the  road  it  stretched  forth  one 
straight,  sturdy,  ten-inch  bough  tufted  with  bushels  of 
luxuriant  pink-and-white  blooms  that,  as  they  passed, 
charged  the  air  with  a  delicately  elusive  fragrance. 

That  he  felt  was  symbolic  of  New  England  :  warp, 
gnarl,  moss-growth,  deep  taproot,  a  holding-on-like- 
grim-Death  to  what  of  sustenance  there  might  be  in 
the  barren  subsoil;  wind-bent,  bowed,  bereft  of  vari 
ous  members,  but  never  uprooted;  and  so  long  as 
there  should  be  life  there  would  be  somewhere  deli 
cate,  entrancing,  unexpected  blossoming  and,  despite 
untoward  conditions,  promise  of  fruition. 

Waldort  drew  a  long  breath  and  smiled  again  to 
himself  at  his  pleasing  conceit:  he,  too,  was  about 
to  take  from  the  impoverished  New  England  soil  a 
delicate  branch  to  engraft  upon  his  own  life  in  the 
West  —  with  promise  of  rich  fruition. 

He  had  seen  her  but  once  in  all  these  years,  in  the 
summer  preceding  his  friend's  death  ;  but  he  had  con 
tinued  his  letters  to  Olympus  after  the  inspiration  of 
its  deity  had  been  withdrawn. 

He  had  known  from  the  first  that  he  must  be  wise 
for  both,  and  give  her  time  to  attempt  the  readjust 
ment  of  her  life  in  her  own  way.  He  felt  sure  the 
attempt  would  prove  abortive.  She  was  not  made 
for  that  isolated  mountain-life.  She  was  young,  and 
—  although  she  did  not  know  it,  could  not  realize  it, 
would  have  resented  any  suggestion  on  his  part  in  re 
gard  to  it  —  he  knew  she  would  soon  crave  that  which 


The  Passing  of  the  Hornet         307 

is  for  the  young:  Life  in  its  fulness,  its  richness,  its 
entirety,  which,  being  interpreted  for  a  woman,  means 
home,  husband,  children. 

So  he  had  waited  patiently  until  this  last  year,  his 
"  heart  of  oak  "  gathering  the  grace  of  a  great  tender 
ness  ;  the  "  volcano,"  after  Madeline  Cope's  marriage, 
at  last  extinct ;  and  the  gentle  growths  of  a  protect 
ing  love  and  anticipated  domestic  joys  were  clothing 
the  excoriated  sides,  the  lava-filled  crevices.  He 
rejoiced  in  his  own  deep  feeling  for  this  legacy  of  his 
friend.  When  once  it  should  have  actually  come  into 
his  possession  —  ah,  then! 

A  bluebird  broke  into  sudden  song  by  the  roadside, 
and  the  man's  eyes  filled. 

He  recalled  that  day  in  the  early  spring  when  that 
letter  came  telling  him  of  her  inability  to  live  so 
longer;  of  the  impossibility  of  readjusting  her  life  in 
the  changed  conditions  of  the  Mountain  —  the  Moun 
tain  that  was  no  more  to  any  of  them  without  the  Man ; 
telling  him  how  Aunt  Lize  had  said,  "  It  was  Hughie 
that  made  the  life  for  us  all,"  and  how  they  had  deter 
mined  to  breakup  the  old  place,  sell  it,  if  possible,  and 
find  a  small  home  in  Alderbury  where  she  had  obtained 
the  position  of  principal's  assistant  at  the  Academy 
for  the  next  fall  term.  The  Mountain-life  had  be 
come  intolerable  for  them  all. 

And  how  he  had  rejoiced  when  she  told  him  in  her 
next  that  she  had  been  reading  for  the  first  time  his 
letters  to  Hugh.  She  had  waited,  at  her  husband's 
request,  the  four  years  and  a  half  before  reading 
them;  and  now  what  a  revelation  they  had  been  to 
her !  How  her  heart  went  out  to  him  in  that  un- 


308      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

fathered  boyhood  of  his  —  for  had  not  she  also  been 
unfathered,  unmothered? 

It  was  then  he  exulted,  knowing  they  had  found 
each  other  on  a  common  basis.  It  was  then  he  had 
written  her  by  return  mail  —  and  told  her  all. 

And  how  he  had  gloated  over  the  touch  of  bitter 
ness  in  her  answer  which  recognized  his  claim  upon 
her:  "It  is  strange  that  in  my  two  diverging  paths 
of  life  Madeline  Cope  should  have  been  before  me 
gathering  the  first  roses." 

How  he  cherished  her  in  thought  for  that  one  bit 
ter  touch !  It  was  so  natural ;  it  belonged  to  her 
youth.  And  how  soon  it  would  be  changed  to  sweet 
ness  in  different  conditions,  in  a  new  environment: 
in  a  land  prodigal  in  its  sunshine,  prodigal  in  its 
blossoms,  prodigal  in  its  serrated  peaks  of  shining 
snow,  in  its  spaciousness  of  sea  and  sky — Oh,  thank 
God  for  California!  — in  a  home  of  her  own,  in  the 
protection  of  his  cherishing  love,  in  the  clasp  of  a 
child's  little  arms  about  her  neck.  —  He  lost  himself  in 
reverie,  and  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  Uncle 
Shim  and  Aunt  Lize  opening  their  New  England  eyes 
upon  the  wonders  of  that  other  land ;  he  almost 
laughed  aloud  as  he  recalled  the  description  in  his 
last  letter  of  the  latter's  enthusiasm  for  the  prospec 
tive  migration  and  a  farm  of  their  own  run  entirely 
upon  the  irrigation  plan. 

As  the  Hornet  emerged  from  the  forest-belt,  the 
silvery  flute  notes  of  a  hermit  thrush  deep  within  the 
green  gloom  aroused  Waldort  to  a  consciousness  of 
his  surroundings. 

Just  before  him  shone  the  white  walls  of  the  de- 


The  Passing  of  the  Hornet         309 

serted  House  of  God.  He  bared  his  head  as  he 
passed  the  slope  of  the  Old  Church  Settlement 
whereon  the  trees  were  rife  with  bird  notes.  But  he 
would  not  stop. —  That  was  for  another  time.  To 
day  was  for  the  living,  and  his  face  was  set,  not  to  the 
rising  sun  towards  which  one  goes  only  the  sooner  to 
meet  the  night,  but  Westwards,  anticipating  the  day. 

Yes,  this  New  England  bred  men ;  —  had  bred  even 
upon  this  Mountain  one  man  who,  with  his  battlefield 
narrowed  to  the  space  of  a  seven-by-four-foot  cot, 
handicapped,  armorless,  beset  behind  and  before  by 
the  horror  of  a  bedridden  despair,  in  the  face  of  pov 
erty  and  a  blank  future  had  fought  valiantly,  disputing 
the  ground  inch  by  inch  until  it  had  narrowed  —  ever 
so  slightly  —  to  the  dimensions  of  a  victorious  grave. 
And  he  had  died  —  still  fighting. 

A  hero? — Yes,  but  only  one  of  the  forgotten 
millions. 

On  the  heights  above  the  Bend,  just  before  he 
reached  the  butternut  tree,  the  driver  drew  rein. 

"  It 's  'bout  time  fer  it  ter  be  leavin'  Scawsville. 
Les'  listen  'n'  mebbe  we  '11  hear  it  whoop,"  he  said  to 
the  passenger  beside  him. 

They  waited  —  five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes.  A  hen- 
hawk  circled  high  in  the  soft  June  sky;  a  chipmunk 
cluttered  along  the  stone  wall.  For  a  moment  there 
was  no  other  sound  but  the  champing  of  the  bits  as 
the  leader  grew  impatient  at  the  delay. 

Suddenly  from  the  depths  of  the  Valley  came  a 
prolonged,  piercing  shriek  —  two  of  them  —  three  of 
them.  The  heights  echoed  stridently.  The  driver 
turned  to  the  man  beside  him. 


310      The  Wood-carver  of 'Lympus 

"What'd  I  tell  ye?"  he  said  with  a  slow,  trium 
phant  smile ;  then,  suddenly  seizing  the  post-horn 
from  its  leathern  socket,  he  tooted  blast  on  blast  in 
feeble  mockery.  The  passenger  caught  him  by  the 
arm. 

"What's  the  use  of  making  such  a  racket  as  that? 
—  there  's  no  one  to  hear."  The  driver  shook  off  the 
hand,  and  blew  with  the  full  strength  of  his  lungs  one 
more  blast. 

"  Ef  I  've  got  ter  celebrate  my  own  fun'ral,  I  'm 
goin'  ter  toot  while  I  can  set  on  the  coffin-lid.  I 
thought  I  'd  got  er  life-job  jest  like  Uncle  Jo  Cheatle, 
V  then  come  the  durned  railway  perspecters,  'n' 
'twuz  all  up  with  me.  —  Besides  she  told  me  to,"  he 
added  irrelevantly. 

"Who?"  asked  the  stranger,  simulating  indiffer 
ence;  but  his  heart  leaped. 

The  driver  pointed  with  his  whipstock  up  to  the 
Pent  Road,  which  they  were  approaching. 

"  Mis'  Armstrong ;  she 's  allus  on  hand  fer  the 
mail,  'n'  she  told  me  ef  ther  wuz  anybody  thet 
stopped  off  fer  their  place  ter  the  butternut  tree, 
ter  blow  on  the  horn,  'n'  ye  said  ye  wuz  goin'  ter  git 
down  here."  He  drew  rein  beneath  the  tree. 

"  Oh,  that  alters  the  case,"  said  the  passenger,  swing 
ing  himself  down  ;  "  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  I  take  it  ye  're  er  stranger  in  these  parts,"  the 
driver  said  as  he  handed  him  down  his  bag. 

"Not  wholly,"  the  other  answered  with  a  suspicion 
of  a  smile ;  "  but  I  have  n't  seen  it  for  five  years." 

"  Guess  ye  're  some  used  ter  stagin',  the  way  ye 
swung  off  thar  jest  now." 


The  Passing  of  the  Hornet         311 

"  I  ought  to  be ;  I  'm  an  old  Californian,"  replied 
the  man. 

"Thet  so?"  said  the  driver  without  any  show  of 
surprise.  "  Jest  tell  Mis'  Armstrong  —  thar  she  comes 
now! — ther  ain't  no  mail  ter-day  ter  celebrate  the 
Hornet's  fun'ral ;  she  '11  hev  ter  git  it  from  Farnsfield 
ter-morrer." 

The  passenger  watched  the  stage  climb  the  rise 
beyond  and  ..disappear  over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
Then  he  turned,  and  with  outstretched  hands  went 
to  meet  the  figure  that  was  coming  lightly  down  the 
pasture  slope  from  the  last  bars. 

"  There  's  no  mail,  Twiddie,"  he  said ;   and  the  two 
went  back  together  up  the  Pent  Road. 
October,  igoa-February,  1903. 


,.„   ,5°.U.JHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIL 


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